White Collar: All or Nothing
by Phoenix-cry
Summary: When Neal is tricked into pulling off a heist he has to figure out who conned him and why before it ruins any chance he has with an early release from the FBI. This is an Alternate Universe due to Alternate Ending to 'Diamond Exchange'. I'd love to say more...but 'spoilers'. ;) I promise plenty of fun, crime, angst, bromance, everything that made White Collar a great show.
1. Chapter 1

NOTE: Since the ending of White Collar I've noticed some of my older White Collar stories have been getting some love and I've been thinking about starting a new one for a while now.

This story is set post end of Season 5, with an Alternate Ending to Season 5...which will be explained at some point.

Don't worry all of my Whovian readers I am still working on Leviathan!

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><p>White Collar: All or Nothing<p>

Chapter One

"I can't believe I'm doing this..."

Shaking his head sadly Neal laced his fingers into the large air vent grate and yanked it off. Standing on the industrial type roof top Neal cringed at the amount of noise the metal had made while coming free. He held his breath for a moment as he waited to see if the alarms would instantly be triggered by the sound. It was a cool clear night and although the moon was new there was plenty of light from the city to illuminate the scene.

Looking around at some of the taller buildings Neal felt exposed to prying eyes. Even though it was two o'clock in the morning one never could tell who was still awake. At this point getting called into the police by some random witness would be disastrous.

"Not to mention embarrassing."

Convinced that his rummaging on the roof had gone unnoticed Neal carefully slipped into the air conditioning system. He felt it was terribly cliche to be sneaking into the air ducts, but it was the weakest point of security of the museum. Moving through the metal ducts however was not as easy as the movies portrayed it to be. Wearing a pair of latex gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints along his path Neal crawled painfully slow through the narrow duct work. The hardest part was moving without banging against the metal walls. Even the softest touch seemed to echo through the hollow works.

Neal took his first opportunity to escape the duct system and ended up in the upper restoration room. Now inside he took a moment to collect himself. He reached up and rubbed at his right shoulder which was starting to bother him. Looking around he found that there was nothing of particular interest in the restoration room at the moment. Anything of value was taken off the work stations and placed in the vaults at night. Going over to the door Neal pressed his ear against it to check for anyone walking through the hall. Being a smaller facility there was only one guard.

Stepping out into the quiet hallway Neal made his way over to the stairwell. The door to the stairs held the first true obstacle in the form of a coded lock. Prying the front panel off Neal inspected the wiring. Tisking in disapproval of the simple system he clipped one of the wires and the door lock popped open.

"This is just sad, they might as well have left the place unlocked."

Not overly interested in looking a gift horse in the mouth Neal stepped into the stair well. Circling down to the second floor Neal peered through the small glass window in the door just in time to spot the guard walking by. Pressing himself against the wall he held perfectly still in hopes that he hadn't been spotted in return. The guard kept walking, the sound of his shoes against the marble floor receding into the distance. An earlier recon mission had revealed that the guard spent a majority of his time on the first and second floors of the museum where the displays were kept. He had a regular pattern that he walked so now that Neal knew where he was he had a good idea of when he'd be back.

While he waited for the guard to put some distance between them Neal clenched and relaxed his right hand to help with the tingling that was creeping into it. Shaking his hand out Neal did his best to ignore it. Suddenly wanting to get this job over with Neal left the safety of the stair well and crept out into the hall. He had the lay out memorized and quickly found the room that held the display that he was after.

There were two cameras in the room that swept back and forth slowly from their positions in the corners of the room near the ceiling. Neal had visited during the day and timed out their motions calculating the angles and blind spots. Whoever had set them up had done a decent job of covering the main display in the center of the room. Luckily it was one of the smaller cases off to the side that Neal was interested in and it was not nearly as well protected. Moving carefully through the room he stepped up to the case and started counting down in his mind the forty-seven seconds that he had before the camera swept back past.

"Hello, Beautiful..."

Neal chuckled as he peered down through the thick glass at the prize he was after. Working quickly he pulled out a small tactical knife and dug the tip into the seam of the black cabinet that the glass box was resting on. He cracked open the front facade and laid it on the floor. Inside the cabinet he was able to get a look at the security system that set off the alarm if the glass was moved. He had brought along a small variety of tool options to deal with the system once he knew what he was up against. In this case all he needed was a small strip of magnet which he happened to have.

Reaching up under the cabinet Neal felt out the small metal box that was on the underside of the cabinet. Hidden in the wooden lip that framed the glass box on top would be a magnet that rested over the metal box. Inside that box was a switch being held up by the magnet connected to the glass case. If the case was lifted the switch would drop completing a circuit that set the alarm off.

Neal slid the thin powerful magnet that he had brought under the wooden lip of the frame. The magnet that was already there helped pull the thin magnet into place as the pair stuck together. Using the knife Neal slid the blade between the two magnets to make sure the one he had placed would stay stuck over the switch while he lifted up the edge of the glass case. The magnet held the switch in place and Neal was able to tilt the box up and reached inside to claim his prize.

Closing his hand around the small golden object Neal picked it up off the velvet pillow. As he drew his hand back a sharp stab of pain like an electrical shock raced down his arm and forced him to drop the delicate work of art. Acting on instinct Neal released the glass case with his left hand and snatched the treasure before it could hit the ground and shatter. The case fell back into place with a bang that seemed to echo out into the hall. Neal winced at the sound, but the glass hadn't broken and the alarm didn't sound.

"Sloppy, Caffrey." Neal muttered to himself.

Placing the ill gotten goods into his pocket Neal pried the knife out from under the edge of the case leaving the thin magnet behind. Reaching up he rubbed at his shoulder and muttered a few choice words under his breath. The pain wasn't constant, but it did seem to have a way of flaring up at exactly the wrong time. Once again forcing it out of his mind Neal headed out of the room just as the camera came back around.

Getting out was a lot easier than getting in. Heading down to the first floor Neal went straight to the loading bay area in the back of the museum. The emergency exit was impossible to tamper with from the outside, but was easily disabled from the inside. Stepping out into the cool New York night Neal made a few mental notes on the over all security of the building or rather the lack there of.

"Nice night for it."

Neal jerked slightly at the sound of Peter's voice.

"Peter." Neal greeted as he turned around and offered Peter a bright smile. "Isn't it a little past your bed time?"

"Hours and hours."

"Well you didn't have to come out here, it could have waited until morning."

"I thought checking your pockets now might be a good idea."

"Peter," Neal said in a mock injured tone "I'm insulted."

"No you aren't."

Neal chuckled and reach into his pocket and pulled out the golden egg he had taken from the museum and handed it over to Peter. Peter held up the egg so that it caught in the cold white street light. Far from being encrusted in jewels the shell was bedazzled with garish glitter and a variety of plastic stones and sequins.

"Ah, it's beautiful." Peter admired

"It's...different." Neal rolled his eyes. "Did you decorate it yourself?"

"El helped."

"Of course she did. You going to keep it on your desk?"

"I might."

"In any case, the museum clearly isn't anywhere near ready to host the real Faberge Egg."

"Think you can have them ready within a week?"

"Probably not to the point where I can't get it, but certainly to the point to at least present a challenge."

Peter took a breath to say something but he thought better of it. A gust of cold wind swept through the alley they were in causing Neal to shudder. Neal's breath hissed across his teeth as his shoulder acted up again. Gritting his teeth he resisted the urge to reach up and press his hand against it, instead he slipped his hands into his pockets. Peter looked at Neal with a look of paternal concern.

"I'm fine." Neal said in an exasperated tone.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were going to."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Peter asked worried.

"I'm not answering that question again."

"If you need to ta..."

"Good night, Peter."

"...good night, Neal." Peter sighed.

Neal turned away from Peter and headed off down the street towards his apartment. He heard Peter offering him a ride home but he just waved him off. It wasn't far and the last thing he wanted right now was to be trapped in a car with Peter knowing that he was going to press the issue. He felt the walk home would help clear his head better than any uncomfortable conversation.

Getting to his apartment Neal had hoped that he would be tired, but looking around the empty room he found himself wide awake. It was three thirty in the morning, that time when it was too early to be up and too late to go to bed. Looking down at his jacket Neal noticed a shimmering gold dust against the black suit.

"Glitter...great." Neal grumbled. "This stuff is a nightmare."

Neal tried unsuccessfully to brush the glitter off his jacket for a minute before giving in. He shrugged it off and abandoning it on the floor. Feeling the all too familiar ache burrowing into his right shoulder again Neal reached up and rubbed at it. Going into the bathroom he opened the medicine cabinet and took out an orange pill container. Shaking two of the white pills into his palm he paused before doubling the dose to four. Tossing the medication past his teeth Neal turned on the tap and cupped his hand under the water to wash them down.

Bending down to drink from his palm Neal swallowed the bitter pills before splashing the cold water on his face. Reaching out blindly for a towel he pulled it off the near by rack and buried his face in it. Looking up into the mirror Neal became lost for a moment in his own reflection as his thoughts drifted to the past. Unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt Neal pulled it to the side to reveal the starburst scar that now marred his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel. It shouldn't have ended that way..."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_ "Neal!"_

_ "Peter, no! Wai..."_

Neal jolted awake to what he could have sworn was a gun shot, but when the noise repeated itself it was nothing more than someone knocking on the front door. Panting heavily Neal's skin crawled with the feeling of cold sweat that slicked his skin. Sitting up Neal dragged his hands through his drenched hair as he tried to shake off the haze that lingered in his head from the nightmare that he couldn't quite remember but instinctively knew he'd been having.

"Neal?" Peter's voice came through the door.

"Yeah, hang on." Neal replied in a weary tone.

Untangling himself from the sheets Neal swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Only wearing the bottom half of his pajamas he looked around for the shirt. He recalled having been wearing it when he went to bed, but he wasn't quite sure what had happened to it during the night. Sitting on the edge of the bed he found the matching silk shirt among the sheets. When he put it on he discovered that the front was torn open from the neck half way down the shirt.

"Not again." Neal muttered as pulled off the ruined shirt.

Neal spotted a plain white shirt draped over one of the dinning room chairs. Getting to his feet Neal's right knee instantly buckled, unable to correct his balance in time he hit hardwood floor. Landing on his shoulder Neal managed not to cry out as a jolt of pain lanced down his arm. Sitting on the floor Neal tried to straighten out his arm that was cramping. He managed to extend his elbow but his wrist remained curled in with his ring and pinky fingers contracted into a painful claw against his palm.

"Neal?" Peter asked concerned through the door.

"Coming," Neal growled through his teeth "just give me a second."

Using his left hand Neal forced his fingers out flat and worked on releasing his wrist. The muscles protested with a few spasms before finally relaxing. Getting back to his feet Neal shook his hand out while he retrieved the white shirt from the chair. He pressed his hand against his shoulder until he reached the door and then made a point of leaving it alone. Taking a deep breath he painted on a smile and opened the door.

"Hey," Neal greeted "I thought you were taking the day off."

"You okay, Neal?"

"Peter, I can't even begin to describe to you how sick I am of hearing you ask me that."

"Sorry, but you look like you've been ridden hard and put away wet...literally."

"It's been a rough morning." Neal admitted as he self-consciously rubbed at his forearm that was still sticky from the night sweats.

"Morning?" Peter repeated with his brow furrowed. "Neal it's four in the afternoon."

"Really?" Neal looked around as if that would help him reorient to the time. "Well it was a late night testing the museum."

"That was two nights ago."

"I know. My circadian rhythm is delicate." Neal shrugged. "Why are you here? Do we have a new case?"

"No. Well, yes, but that's not why I'm here. Can I come in?"

"Of course, sorry." Neal stepped out of the way so Peter could step inside. "What's going on?"

"Sit down, Neal." Peter said gently.

"Okay, now you're just making me nervous."

"You can't be half as nervous as I am." Peter said half jokingly.

"Peter, seriously, what is going on?"

"I got orders from the top considering your parole."

"I'm going back to prison?" Neal asked fearfully. "After everything I've done to hel..."

"No, Neal, not prison." Peter assured. "Approval came through to take you off anklet."

"Really?" Neal instantly brightened. "When?"

"Today. Right now in fact."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"This isn't an unconditional release." Peter added. "I'm still your handler, you will need to check in with me over the phone daily and in person at least once every three days."

"Do I still have a radius?"

"For now they ask that you stay within New York state."

"I can't believe this." Neal smiled.

"Neither can I."

"What do you mean? This certainly didn't just come out of the blue. I know they denied you when you asked for my early release two months ago after..." Neal paused unable to finished the sentence. "After everything that happened. You must have been the one pushing for this, right?"

"...of course." Peter replied after a brief hesitation. "I just didn't think anyone was listening."

"Bark loud and long enough and someone is bound to notice. I can't thank you enough for this, Peter."

In his excitement Neal thew his arms around Peter in an enthusiastic embrace. Peter accepted the affection for a moment before pushing Neal away. Peter put his hands on his hips and stared at Neal. Neal could see in Peter's expression that he had some reservations about the new arrangement, but Neal was determined to prove to him that he could walk on the straight and narrow for at least long enough to be granted a full release.

"Do not screw the pooch on this one, Neal."

"I won't, I promise, Peter."

"I'm serious. You so much as bend the law half a degree and I don't know what will happen to either one of us. I'm putting a lot on the line backing you on this."

"I know, and I'm ready for this. ...I need this."

Peter regarded Neal silently for a moment before he nodded slightly. Reaching into his jacket Peter pulled out the folded paperwork and a pen. Taking the document over to the table Neal read over the fine print. As Peter had already explained he was still a ward of the state and Peter would act as handler while Neal continued to assist the FBI as a CI. However he would no longer be monitored and he was free to move about the city as he pleased whenever he wasn't actively working a case.

It wasn't the same as true freedom, but he was more than happy to agree to it for now. Neal signed the papers and handed them back to Peter. Pulling the dinning room chair out Neal propped his foot up on it. Once again Peter hesitated, but in the end he fished the small magnetic key out of his pocket and offered it to Neal.

"Oh no," Neal shook his head "you put it on there, you should be the one to take it off."

Peter managed a smiled and leaned over to release the magnetic lock on the anklet. Removing the anklet Peter slipped it into the large side pocket of his jacket. Neal rubbed at his newly naked ankle. He'd had the tracker off plenty of times in the past few years, but this time felt very different. Putting his foot back on the floor Neal looked around as if seeing the apartment for the first time.

"I don't even know what to do first." Neal smiled.

"Can I make a suggestion?"

"Of course."

"Take a shower and brush your teeth."

"That bad, eh?" Neal chuckled.

Peter answered by taking a step back. Neal laughed at him and pounced on him with another friendly hug that Peter instantly worked to escape from. Neal released him without much of a fight. After a brief moment of silence Peter headed towards the door. Neal followed him over. Peter opened the door but before he stepped through he turned back to Neal.

"Congratulation, Neal." Peter said sincerely.

"Thank you."

"If you need anything..." Peter left the rest unspoken.

"I know." Neal nodded. "Thank you, Peter, for everything."

Peter nodded once again. He looked like he was going to give Neal one last warning about behaving, but he kept quiet and simply left. Neal closed the door and stared out over his apartment. He had not been keeping it as clean and orderly as he usually did, it wasn't a serious mess or anything, but it wasn't his usual state either.

Resolving to clean it up later Neal headed for a much needed shower. Once clean and dressed Neal reached for his cell phone. Picking it up he instantly dropped it as his hand went numb. He had almost forgotten about the damage for a moment. With his shoulder suddenly blazing in pain he retreated to the bathroom. Shaking four pills out of the orange bottle he skipped the water and just chewed them. Instantly feeling better Neal went back out into the living room to retrieve his phone. He had to dial four different numbers, the first three having been disconnected, before he finally got an answer.

"Hey, Neal." Mozzie greeted.

"Mozzie, get over here, right now. We're going out."

"Out? Where?"

"I don't care, just as long as it's at least two point five miles away."


	3. Chapter 3

NOTE: I'm pleased everyone is enjoying! Also please note that I don't personally have anything against physician's assistants, they play a very important role in the medical world and my primary care attendant happens to be one. Neal however isn't as thrilled with the care he's getting. ;)

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><p>Chapter Three<p>

Neal sat on one of the white benches inside the Whitney Museum of American Art staring at a painting with a slight smile touching his lips. It was a painting of a early 1900's show woman in a Victorian dress up on stage in front of a conductor. The choppy style of painting and the easy flow rough colors gave it simplicity, but the warm use of light gave it amazing depth. The painting had such warmth that Neal felt that if he held his hand out he would be able to feel it. Mozzie was sitting next him, but he was more interested in the near by higher priced items hanging on the walls.

"_Revue_ by Everett Shinn." Neal broke the silence. "I've always loved this painting."

"Want to steal it?" Mozzie chuckled.

"I already have." Neal smiled.

"What?"

"This is a forgery, my forgery." Neal looked at the painting fondly. "This was my first crime here in New York."

"Ah, so that's why we are here."

"It is. I've wanted to come visit it for a while now."

"So whoever you sold it to gave it to the museum?" Mozzie asked confused.

"No." Neal shook his head. "I did the forgery and then broke in to replace the original."

"Umm...why?"

"Just to see if anyone would notice."

"Clearly no one did."

"I even called in a tip that they might want to have it checked."

"Bold." Mozzie said with a nod of approval.

Neal just smiled as he became lost in thought. The painting was the ultimate expression of crime being an art form all its own. Just like the fact that he had enjoyed stealing the worthless egg Peter had decorated up just as much as he would have if the real Faberge had been there. More often than not the jobs he had pulled in the past had nothing to do with a need for money. Neal had lost count on how many scores could have had him 'set for life' as far as money was concerned. Money was never enough, he always missed the thrill.

"Peter's right," Neal mutter to himself "I'm probably not ready for this."

"Neal?" Mozzie asked in concern.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about my 'release', I don't think Peter wanted to do it. Which really doesn't make much sense since he must have been the one to make the request or at the very least they must have asked his opinion about it. But he hesita..."

"Neal, stop." Mozzie interrupted. "Never look a gift horse in the mouth, it's liable to bite you."

"Very deep, Mozzie."

"I'm serious. Who cares why the suit took off your anklet? It doesn't matter."

"The more I think about it, the more something doesn't feel right."

"I agree."

"You do?" Neal replied surprised. "I thought you said it didn't matter."

"It doesn't, or at least it won't." Mozzie said confidently. "You say you only have to check in with Peter physically every three day?"

"Trust me, he's going to want to have eyes on me at least once a day no matter what the court order has to say about."

"Still, Neal, we could be half way across the world over night." Mozzie said with obvious excitement.

"No."

"This is the perfe..."

"No." Neal said more firmly. "I'm not running. I'm so close to being truly free, I'm not ruining it now."

"If it's Peter you're worried about..."

"Just drop it, Moz."

"At least agree to think about it." Mozzie pressed.

Neal sighed in defeat. Not enjoying his first night of relative freedom as much as he had hoped Neal reached for his hat that was resting on the bench next to him. Picking it up his arm jerked with a mind of its own and knocked the fedora to the floor. Mozzie was quick to lean down and retrieve the hat so that Neal wouldn't have to.

"How's your shoulder?" Mozzie asked knowingly as he offered Neal his hat.

"Worse." Neal admitted as he took the hat. "There are times when it doesn't bother me at all, and then suddenly it feels like someone's twisting a knife in it, which usually happens at the least convenient time. It's not always just pain anymore either, sometimes my hand cramps up or it's numb and I pins and needles. The a week ago when I woke up it took a good fifteen minutes before I could move my arm at all, like it was paralyzed."

"That sounds serious. What does your doctor say about all this?"

"My doctor? You mean my state appointed physician's assistant?" Neal hissed. "The last time I went in to tell him that my symptoms were just getting worse he said he was discontinuing my narcotics prescription and wanted to send me to a psychiatrist. At first I was angry that he thought all this pain was just in my head, but I found out that it was worse than that."

"Worse how?"

"He doesn't think I'm crazy, he thinks I'm a liar."

"What?"

"When he was distracted by a nurse that came in to ask a question I got a glance at my chart. He hadn't written down a single thing I'd told him, he'd simply scribbled on it: 'MRI clean. Constellation of symptoms incongruous. Patient is convict, and drug seeking'."

"He thinks you're an addict." Mozzie sighed sadly. "That prescription stuff is big money on the street these days."

"I don't have a drug problem, Mozzie, I have a pain problem."

"I wasn't taking his side, Neal." Mozzie said quickly. "Can't you get a different doctor?"

"Not without going through official channels and the new doctor will just get the same chart with the same diagnosis of 'drug seeker' on it. I'd rather have answers than drugs, but I can't seem to get either."

"What are you going to do?"

"I guess just deal with it." Neal sighed.

"Does Peter know how much it's bothering you?"

Neal's silence answered the question for him.

"He might be able to get you a better doctor." Mozzie suggested.

"I've already had every test in the book, they all came back negative. No, I'm done with doctors, and there is no way I'm going to psychiatrist this close to being released. If one person writes on a document anywhere that I'm anything other than one hundred percent capable of taking care of myself I'll never escape the FBI."

"I wish I could say that isn't true, but you're right. Never let them label you 'crazy', even if you are. Of course some of history's greatest artists suffered from mental illness, although I prefer the term 'neurodiversity'."

Neal manage a chuckle. With the mood lightened Mozzie brightened as well. Mozzie made the suggestion that they head out for some dinner. Happy to do anything that would take his mind off of things Neal agreed. Mozzie lead Neal to a small hole in the wall restaurant that hadn't seen a health inspector in years. They specialized in Ethiopian food that was eaten by hand on flat injera bread. Neal had his suspicions that Mozzie would have preferred sushi but didn't want to put Neal through the ordeal of using chopsticks at the moment.

Mozzie spent most of the meal coming up with elaborate scenarios of places they could go if Neal changed his mind about leaving. Neal peacefully allowed the talk knowing that it was Mozzie's way of dealing with stress. Neal put in his vote for Paris on a destination and Mozzie instantly pounced on the idea.

When dinner was over a young woman who clearly knew Mozzie stepped up to the table and asked the pair if they would be interested in coffee. Mozzie had instantly agreed to coffee for the both of them. Neal had been expecting to have a cup brought to the table, but Mozzie had gotten to his feet and encourage Neal to join him. The woman lead them upstairs to where she had a full coffee ceremony ready. She had already placed down aromatic grass and a few flowers on the bare wooden floor around the set up that she had.

Sitting on the floor Neal watched fascinated as their hostess roasted a small amount of raw beans in a wok like pan over a flame that rose up from a metal pot. She tossed the long handled pan to separate the husks from the beans skillfully. The acrid scent that filled the room stung at Neal's senses as she roasted the beans until they had turned a shiny black as the aromatic oils were coaxed out of the beans.

With a heavy wooden pestle and a long handled mortar she ground the beans until they formed a thick paste. She placed the grounds into a black clay pot of hot water that had a straw lid, placing it over the flame it was brought to a boil. The resulting coffee was poured in a continuous stream over a tray that held three small cups leaving the grounds in the pot. Sugar and salt were offered to add, but no milk. Neal was given a small cup of the jet black coffee which had a sharp wine-like flavor to it. Mozzie praised the coffee and the preparation lavishly and Neal followed suit. After the first round they were quickly offered a second. Starting to feel a serious buzz Neal hesitated when she offered him another cup.

"Uh..." Neal tried to think of a way to be polite.

"Neal," Mozzie whispered "you have to drink three cups."

"Three?"

"It's very rude to retire before the third cup, the third round is considered to bestow a blessing. It is needed for the completion of the transformation of spirit."

"Okay, but I'm blaming you when I don't sleep tonight."

When the third cup had been consumed Neal and Mozzie thanked their host once again. She smiled proudly, she had only spoken a few words through the whole ceremony. Neal glanced at his watch and discovered to his surprise that it was nearing midnight. He hadn't even realized how long the ceremony had taken.

Saying good bye to Mozzie Neal started on the long walk home. He was a good six miles from his apartment, but with the strong Ethiopian coffee running through his veins he didn't mind. Taking a winding route home Neal found himself farther from home than when he'd started and in a part of the city that he hadn't visited in a very long time. As the coffee buzz wore off he found his shoulder going from a nuisance to actually being in pain. It had been hours since he'd last taken any of the prescribed percocet and worse yet he knew there were only two left in the bottle at home that now had no refills left on it.

Coming to an old house crammed in between a few derelict apartment buildings Neal stepped up to the door. He was about to knock when he thought better of it. Before he could back away the door opened. A woman who would have looked at home in New Orleans as a Voodoo Priestess appeared. She had looked annoyed at first, but after a quick glance at Neal she instantly warmed to the idea of having him on her door step in the middle of the night.

"How can I help you, Sweetness?" She purred.

"Is...uh...is Rick still here?"

"No, sorry, Baby-doll, Ricky's dead."

"Sorry to hear that." Neal took a step back. "Sorry to disturb you. Good night."

"If you've got pain, you can talk to me." A broad smile split her lips. "I got every-ting you need."

Neal took another step back before he stopped and glanced around the deserted neighborhood. His hand suddenly clenched into a fist that he couldn't relax. Stuffing his disobedient hand into his jacket pocket he ran his left hand through his hair in frustration. The woman sensed that he was about to leave and opened up the door to the house wider to be more inviting.

"I don't like seeing you suffer. What do you need? You can tell me."

"I...uh...I'm looking for something..." Neal hesitated again "medical grade, percocet or something similar."

"No problem, Sugar, come upstairs. Momma's got a whole candy store..."


	4. Chapter 4

NOTE: Sorry about the wait, I shall endeavor to update more quickly in future!

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><p>Chapter Four<p>

"So...where were you last night?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Neal chuckled.

"Probably not." Peter sighed. "I was just too afraid to ask you what you were doing."

"Nothing I can't rationalize."

"You know it makes me nervous when you talk like that, right?"

"I choose my every word with you very carefully for that exact effect."

"Sit." Peter ordered as he rolled his eyes.

Neal smiled brightly and plunked down in one of the chairs in front of Peter's desk. Looking through a few files on his desk Peter put his signature on the ones that still required it. When Neal had first started working with White Collar he had thought that Peter making him sit and wait while he signed papers in the morning was some sort of power play. However it hadn't take Neal long to realize that tying up loose ends was just part of Peter's morning routine. He like to make sure everything was as organized as possible before the chaos of the day began.

Eventually Peter signed the last page in the stack and after placing them in the 'out' box bin he put the cap back on his pen. This was usually the point when Peter put the pen back in the drawer and they would start talking about their next case, but today he kept the pen in his hands and fidgeted with it. Neal watched Peter play with the pen for a full minute before he reached over the desk and took the pen away.

"What's wrong, Peter?"

"That obvious?"

"Painfully so." Neal confirmed. "What's wrong?"

"I want to talk to you about Rachel."

"We've already talk about it." Neal replied coldly.

"Yes, but I don't think you've ever truly listened to what I have to say."

"I've listened, I've even heard. I just happen to disagree with you."

"I did what I had to." Peter said firmly.

"No." Neal shook his head. "I had everything under control, I was seconds away from talking her into turning herself in."

"You were seconds away from a bullet tearing through your heart."

"She shot me out of a spasmodic reaction to the shot gun blast to the chest she received from you. I know she had me at gun point, but I was perfectly safe until you arrived."

"She was MI5 trained, she was trained like I was: to keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to kill. The second you turned to look at me she slipped her finger down on that trigger."

"Peter..."

"Neal, she was going to kill you, expecting to be next herself. She wasn't about to leave without you."

"Why are we rehashing this?" Neal demanded getting angry. "Who are you even trying to convince? Me or yourself?"

Neal regretted his words even before he had finished them. Peter instantly dropped eye contact, telling Neal that he had hit a nerve.

"Peter, I'm sorry." Neal apologized sincerely. "I know you did what you felt was right at the time. You were just trying to protect me, and I am grateful for that. But no matter what you say I will never believe that I needed protecting from her."

"I know she loved you." Peter admitted.

"She did, but I never loved her, not really." Neal furrowed his brow as a new thought crossed his mind. "That's what you're really worried about, isn't it? I'm off anklet now and you're worried that I'm not in a good place mentally and therefore more prone to doing something stupid."

"Something like that."

"Don't worry about me, Peter. I didn't love Rachel, I admit that I was falling for 'Rebecca', but she didn't exist." Neal opened and closed his hand a few time as the numbness suddenly returned. "She was just a con."

"Neal, I jus..."

"Did it ever occur to you that I may have learned a lesson in that particular cruel twist of irony? That perhaps being conned was for the best? Because trust me when I say that a taste of my own medicine has temper my desire for dishing it out."

"I'm sorry, Neal, you didn't deserve to be hurt like that."

"That's debatable."

Peter fell silent, unsure of how to respond. The phone on Peter's desk rang but he ignored it to show Neal that their conversation was more important even if he didn't know how to best continue it. Neal smiled gratefully at the gesture but ended the conversation himself by reaching over and picking up the phone, handing the receiver to Peter. Peter hesitated but then accepted that there really wasn't anything more to say anyway at this point.

"Burke." Peter answered the phone.

Realizing that he had been leaning forward during their talk Neal relaxed and leaned back. He shoved his hand into his jacket pocket hoping that it would help the pins and needles sensation go away. He had felt just fine when he'd walked into Peter's office, but now his shoulder was starting to ache once more. He thought about the percocet that he'd bought from Camilla the night before, six of which were resting in his breast pocket at the moment. Neal was thinking about excusing himself to head to the restroom to take a few in privacy when Peter hung up the phone with an irritated grumble.

"Peter?"

"That was the art museum. They are still worried about that damn egg, it arrives today."

"They took our recommendations on security didn't they?"

"They only had time to implement a few of them."

"What more do they expect us to do about it?"

"That's basically what I told them."

"And?"

"And apparently they feel that their tax dollars are not being well spent on my salary."

Neal chuckled, earning him a glare from Peter. "I don't understand why they are so concerned, I mean I know it's a valuable object, probably six million fenced. However they have other works there on display right now worth a lot more."

"Two Faberge eggs have been stolen in the last three months. This egg is on loan from Russia so beyond the money it would be a PR nightmare if this one ends up missing."

"Wait, two have been stolen? Why aren't we on that case?"

"They were stolen out of European collections, so they are Interpol's problem."

"If the first two thefts were connected this egg would probably be safer in America. Getting in and out of the US isn't as easy as it used to be."

"It doesn't matter, we have bigger fish to fry."

"New case?"

"One I'm not one hundred percent happy to bring you in on, but one that undoubtedly requires your skills."

"I like what I'm hearing so far." Neal smiled. "What have you got?"

"Are you familiar with Wassily Kandinsky?"

"I'm insulted that you feel you need to ask. Russian born artist, 1866-1942, who is widely credited with creating one of the first purely abstract works. He had a profound influence on modern art. His work has an amazing amount of flow and creativity that invites the viewer to draw their own conclusions. It was also believed that he had synaesthesia."

"Syne-what now?"

"Synaesthesia, it is a phenomenon where stimulation to one sense causes an involuntary experience to a second sense. People with synaesthesia often describe it as an ability to hear color and see music, these people often become musician or artists of extraordinary talent. Kandinsky reported experience color through not just sight, but hearing, touch, and even smell."

"Smell?"

"The scent of a rose often reminds people of the color red, but for Kandinsky the scent of a rose could trigger a whole masterpiece of color in his mind."

"I guess I tend to just think in black and white."

"Now there is the understatement of the century." Neal mocked.

"Watch it, one word from me and you're back in that anklet."

"No need for threats." Neal held his hands up peacefully. "Why are you interested in Kandinsky?"

"One of his stolen works has just surfaced."

"Really?" Neal asked excited. "Which one?"

"'Blue Crest'."

"One of my favorites." Neal said as his excitement grew. "Is it here?"

"It is." Peter confirmed. "In evidence."

"Do you need it authenticated?"

"Yes, and if it is real..." Peter stopped and heaved a sigh. "I can't believe I'm going to say this..."

"You need a forgery of it don't you? To use in another sting. Whoever you caught with it already had a buyer lined up, a buyer he's willing to give up for some leniency. You want the buyer too, but you can't use the real Kandinsky in case something goes wrong and it gets damaged. I bet the buyer someone you've been waiting years to catch with his hand in the cookie jar, and this is the closest you've ever come. Am I right?"

"You know you are."

"I'm on it."

"I knew you would be."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Magnificent." Neal said with true admiration. "The dynamic development of the main color and the brightly expressed accents blend seamlessly into the ascending spiral movement that sweeps diagonally across the canvas. It evokes an image of a horseman galloping through a Spanish village in the rain. The darker tones crash into the bright space in the upper right like a cresting wave adding to the overall energy."

"I don't get it." Peter said unimpressed.

"What's not to get? It's a masterpiece."

"It looks like it was painted by a five year old."

Neal furrowed his brow and gave Peter an exasperated look. Neal turned his attention back to the abstract Kandinsky, unable to understand how Peter couldn't see the beauty and creativity expressed in the painting. Neal loved how abstract works invite the viewer to participate in the artistic process by seeing it in a different light than the creator, bringing a new depth to the work through perspective. It was clear from Peter's expression that the painting left no impression on him whatsoever.

"How is it that we're friends?" Neal asked seriously.

"By court ordered mandate."

"Right." Neal smiled. "Alright, I'll take this back to my apartment and start on the forgery."

"Nice try, Neal." Peter pressed a manilla envelop of photos against Neal's chest. "The original stays here."

"I'd be able to do a better job if I had the original."

"Not going to happen."

"Peter, has anyone ever told you that you have trust issues?"

Peter glared silently at Neal.

"The photos will do just fine." Neal gave in. "How much time do we have?"

"Five days."

"Oh. That's pushing it with an oil painting. They can take weeks, even months to dry."

"Don't you put in the oven or something?"

"That's to age it, heat doesn't do much to speed up oil paint drying. Acrylic paint dries by literally drying out the water, with oil paints it's actually an oxidizing process that occurs. I can add a drying agent and some linseed oil, but it might crack. How closely is it going to be inspected by the buyer? How much does he know about art collecting?"

"There is a good chance he knows nothing about art, he's been buying a lot of it lately, but with no particular theme or style in common."

"Private collectors tend to show their tastes in their purchases." Neal agreed. "Who is this guy? Why the sudden interest in 'art'?"

"His name is Lawrence Fisher and buying and selling stolen art isn't what put him on our radar. He's head of a smaller investment company. We think he's running a Ponzi scheme that is about to collapse."

"Time to liquidate his cash into easier to transport, harder to trace assets before he disappears." Neal nodded thoughtfully. "He might not even know the Kandinsky is stolen."

"Considering who he's buying from, he knows it's stolen or at least he should suspect. If we catch him buying it we will have a solid evidence to get a warrant to take a detailed look into all of his finances both personally and company."

"What kind of Ponzi is he running?"

"Hedge fund fraud. A few years back he started up what we suspected was a hedge fund scheme, but while he was under investigation the fund took a lucky unexpected turn and what probably started out as a scheme actually made legitimate money. I'm sure he managed to embezzle a good quantity of it, but he was able to clean up his books with the upswing in the hedge which he quickly dissolved."

"Now he's started over?"

"And with the success of his last fund he has twice the number of investors."

"Perfect time to vanish with investor cash in hand before it gets actually sucked up into the market."

"Exactly, particularly with the way oil prices have been plummeting his fund can't be that immune to market pressure, and yet he's reported nothing but gains for the last three quarters."

"Drawing even more investors in."

"Everything he has posted looks clean, but hedge funds are not open to the public the way mutual funds are and oversight of them is notoriously difficult considering how many regulatory loopholes they have built into them. As far as I'm concerned hedge funds are barely legal to begin with."

"All in all it doesn't sound like he's an art collector and that is really going to work to our advantage. He will be easier to trick with a forgery."

"So you can get it done in time?"

"If I start now."

"I'll set everything up for the buy."

"Can I go in as the seller?" Neal asked hopefully.

"It will have to be you." Peter looked down at the painting. "I could never convince anyone to buy this crap."

Neal chuckled and Peter joined with a genuine smile. Neal was glad to have some of the tension between them over Rachel lifted, even if it was just for the moment. He didn't want to blame Peter for Rachel's death, and yet deep down part of him still resented Peter for what happened. The increasing frequency and severity of the symptoms that ran down his right side didn't help the situation, acting as a constant reminder.

A cold chill ran down Neal's spine as he suddenly came to the realization that he might not even be physically capable of forging the complicated abstract painting. Until a few weeks ago he had been in a sling as the gunshot healed, and he hadn't so much as looked at a paint brush over the past three months since the shooting. He wasn't in any pain at the moment, but he knew from bitter experience that it would be back.

"I'm going to go get starting on this." Neal said as he turned away with the photos in hand.

"Neal..."

"Yes?"

"It's good to see you excited about a case."

"You mean my first case completely off anklet?" Neal asked knowingly. "Are you worried about me getting bored while you can't track my every move?"

"Idle hands are never a good thing, particularly ones as talented as yours. I'll admit that I feel better keeping them occupied."

"Did that sound better in your head?" Neal mocked. "Because out loud that sound really dirt..."

"Get out." Peter interrupted, rolling his eyes.

Neal flashed Peter a smile and wiggled his fingers at him before he left the evidence room. It had been mid morning when Neal got back to his apartment after a trip to a local art store for a few extra supplies. It was now nearing midnight and Neal was surrounded by a dozen failed attempts at the Kandinsky. He could get the base colors in, but every time he tried to work the detail his hand jerked or simply went numb. On his last attempt he had actually ripped through the canvas with the brush.

At the moment Neal had given up on the forgery and was working on an abstract work of his own to try and loosen up his hand and relax his mind. Neal dragged a thick swath of red paint across the multi coloured painting. The first pass of color left a wavering line where Neal had wanted a straighter path. Trying to create a smooth bold line of color he slashed at the canvas with the red in his growing frustration. At the top of the violent stroke the brush flew out of his hand as his arm jerked painfully. Snarling in disgust Neal slammed his palm against the painting and smeared the greasy oil paint across the large canvas with his hand.

Suddenly panting for breath Neal jumped to his feet and shoved the painting along with the easel over. The the sound of Peter's shotgun mixed almost simultaneously with the crack of Rachel's handgun seemed to ring in his ears as the easel hit the hardwood floor. Stumbling back a few steps Neal grabbed his right wrist as it contracted powerfully with a life of its own. The muscles down his arm burned like acid as they continued to pull tight against the bone causing his arm to curl up against his chest despite his best efforts to stop it.

Neal fought against himself for a moment before the 'attack' was suddenly over. His muscles relaxed and the arm was once again his to control. The pain receded for the most part but the event had left him exhausted. Without thinking he reached up and buried his face in his hands before dragging them through is hair, leaving half his face smeared in crimson paint. Neal caught his reflection in the glass patio doors and stared at the 'blood' that marred his skin.

The sight of the paint trigger the memory of Rachel's face covered in blood as she lay on the stone staring blindly at him as she clung to life. He had been laid out by the shot he'd taken as well. Although bleeding out himself with Peter pressing hard against his ruined shoulder he didn't remember there being any pain. At the time he had been completely focused on the light slowly leaving Rebecca's eyes as she succumb to her own devastating injuries. Closing his eyes Neal forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to clear his mind of the gory image.

Digging into his pocket with his clean hand Neal pulled out five percocet which he crunched down on without water before fishing his cell phone out of another pocket. Chewing on the bitter pain killers he instantly felt the wash of relief that they provided. He swallowed the thick paste as he dialed the phone.

"Hey, Neal." Mozzie answered. "You're up late."

"Mozzie, I...I have a very important favor to ask."

"Anything. What do you need?"

"Find me someone who can forge a Kandinsky."


	6. Chapter 6

NOTE: Sorry about the wait, I will do better from now on. I was finishing up a different story. I hope you all are still enjoying!

* * *

><p>Chapter Six<p>

Neal laid in bed curled up in a nest of Egyptian cotton sheets. With every breath he nestled deeper into the warm cocoon with all the contentment of a cat curled up on a pillow. It had taken nearly an hour to wash the thick oil paint off his face and get it out of his hair and after the long night failing at the forgery he had been exhausted by the time he was done. The drugs in his blood made the bed as comfortable as a summer cloud. Despite the late hour he was battling against falling asleep because he was enjoying being warm and pain free so much. Eventually he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

It felt like only seconds had passed when the peace of his dark apartment was shattered by the mechanical buzz of his phone. It took him a moment to even figure out what it was as the haze of drug induced sleep still clung to him. Trying to ignore the phone on the night stand Neal pulled the covers up over his head and willed it to be silent. The phone rang to voice mail but after a brief pause it began to buzz again.

"Go away." Neal moaned like a child that didn't want to get up for school.

Afraid that if he didn't answer the phone that Mozzie would just come over and let himself in Neal reached out for his cell phone. A quick glance at the clock on the night stand told Neal it was two thirty in the morning, he'd barely been in bed an hour. Clumsy from the percocet that he had recently taken Neal knocked the phone to the floor. Struggling with the sheets Neal leaned over the bed to reach the phone still ringing on the floor.

"Mozzie..."

"Neal, I nee..."

"Peter?" Neal interrupted, surprised by the late call. "Is everything alright?"

"Neal, I need you at the museum."

"What? Why?"

"We are testing the security."

"The egg again?" Neal asked in confusion. "Can't this wait?"

"No."

"But, I...I don't even know what changes they made to the system."

"Figure it out."

"Peter..."

"Now, Caffery."

Before Neal could say anything else Peter hung up. Furrowing his brow Neal looked around his dark apartment feeling disoriented. He checked his caller ID to make sure that he hadn't just woken from some bizarre dream. In his phone it had one missed call and one taken call from 'Burke'. Neal briefly thought about calling back and trying to talk his way out of this, but Peter hadn't sounded like he was in the mood to negotiate.

Sighing heavily Neal swung his legs out of the bed as he sat up. Getting to his feet he had to stand still for a moment while a wave of vertigo washed over him. Taking a few deep breaths he headed over to the walk in closet. Changing into a simple black outfit Neal dug out the small bag that still had his tools from the last time he broke into the museum. Stepping into the hidden 'speakeasy' room Neal grabbed a few extra supplies before he headed out the front door.

The cool night air helped wake him up as he walked the three miles to the museum. In the early hours of the night New York was mostly asleep despite its reputation for never doing so. Neal only came across about a dozen people and all of them had their own business to mind. Getting to the museum Neal circled it once from across the street to see if any security had been added to the outside. Feeling that it was safe to approach he stepped into the back alley that lead to the loading dock.

He had gone in through the roof the first time, but he suspected that they would have welded that grate shut. It would have been one of the simplest of the changes that he had Peter had recommended. There was no good access from ground level but Neal did spot an open window on the third floor of the four story building. They hadn't made any changes to the fire escape, which was easily reached by climbing up the drain pipe.

Neal made it up onto the fire escape stairs without any trouble but once he was standing on the metal grate of the stairs and looked down the vertigo returned. Leaning against the brick building Neal took a moment to recovere his balance. He'd had trouble with the dizziness on the percocet before, but usually he was home and could just lay down. Being careful not to look down Neal made his way up to the roof top.

As predicted the grate he had opened to get into the duct work was welded shut. Luckily it looked like they had done a very good job of it. Neal dug through his bag and pulled out a coil of parachute cord along with a special carabiner that would assist in rappelling down. Using a knot he'd learned while mountain climbing in New Zealand Neal secured the cord to the grate. He put on a pair of thin leather gloves to protect his skin as well as keep from getting fingerprints everywhere. Wrapping the cord around his hand and then up over his elbow he used the purchase to yank on the rope with all of his strength to test the grate. Satisfied it would hold Neal went over to the edge.

Looking down brought back the vertigo with a vengeance and Neal was forced to sit down on the roof top and close his eyes. He was deeply regretting the large dose of percocet he had taken just two hours ago. It was dangerous enough to be rappelling off the building even on a good day, doing it now was bordering on just plain stupid.

"If I had been given a little warning..." Neal muttered bitterly. "I still don't see what is so important about one tacky little egg."

Sitting on the gritty roof top Neal gave some serious consideration to giving up and just going home. Neal rubbed at his ankle as he thought about what might happen if he didn't do the security test and the egg ended up missing. Not wanting to risk being leashed again Neal snapped the large carabiner on the cord, wrapped a loop under his foot and then slipped the tail of the rope through a groove in the carabiner. The handle on the carabiner allowed him to slowly fish the tail through and slow down his decent.

Crawling over the edge Neal was careful not to look down as he slid the first of the rope through the hand hold. Slowly making his way down the side of the building Neal prayed no one was watching from the buildings across the alley. They were all commercial and no lights were on, so hopefully anyone there would be up to no good themselves and not worry themselves with the shadow on the museum.

Reaching the open window Neal climbed inside. He unhooked the carabiner and put it back in the bag. Unfortunately he was going to have to leave the rope behind. He didn't have the right equipment to climb back up the thin cord, which was much more difficult than sliding down. Neal found himself in an employee break room with a vending machine and a few places to sit and eat. Stepping out into the hall he went down the stairwell to find the maintenance closet.

Neal was fairly certain that one of the suggestions they would have taken by now would be to change the timing on the camera sweep. He had easily avoided getting taped before, but he doubted he'd be so lucky this time around. The door to the maintenance room was locked but a few seconds with a lock pick fixed that. Once inside however he was surprised to find a combination lock on the junction box.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Neal searched around briefly for the combination, often times places kept the combination near by for employee's or the employee themselves scribbled it someplace easy. Not finding any numbers Neal went back to the break room. Going to the vending machine Neal searched around the bottom of his bag for a some spare change. Having trouble finding the coins with the leather gloves he pulled off the right one and reached back inside. He always kept a few quarters around, they were endlessly useful. Finding the coins he put them in the machine and pressed a random button. Putting the glove back on he wiped the button clean before retrieving the coke that had been dispensed.

Taking the coke to the counter Neal opened it and drained it down the sink. Taking out a small pocket knife Neal cut out a 'T' shaped piece with rounded ends from the side of the can. Crushing the can he tossed it into the recycle bin. With the small cut out in hand he went back down stairs. Neal slid one end of the coke can shim into the lock and jiggled the combination. The shim sprung the mechanism inside the combination lock easily and it popped open.

"These things are useless."

Looking over the power-box Neal hunted out the circuits that powered the cameras. Cutting off the actual feed from the cameras wasn't possible from this junction box. They had been smart enough to set those up with backup power so if power was cut to the building the alarms and cameras would still work. However if he flickered the power the cameras would cut out for a second while they switched to the back up and in doing so the memory for the sweep pattern would be lost and they would go back to the factory settings. Neal had suggested that they upgrade to cameras with battery operated memory, but those were more expensive and he was certain that they hadn't had time to change out the camera system.

"Now we just have to hope the factory settings are something we can work with."

Neal slunk around the main floor until he spotted the guard. He hung back in the shadows to wait to see if there were two now, and after about ten minutes he spotted the second guard. The second guard was wearing a different uniform, probably from an outside company. This guard was going to be more of a problem. He didn't patrol the whole area the way the original one did, he was here to keep an eye on the main gallery.

Neal thought about the problem for a moment. He came up with an idea, but he hesitated to use it since it would include some property damage. After another ten minutes of problem solving Neal hadn't come up with a better idea than his first one. Going to the woman's bathroom Neal put his foot on the water pipe that ran along the outside of the wall towards the sink. Being an older building it had older style plumbing that was easily broken. Stepping down on the pipe it snapped and started gushing water onto the floor.

Neal jumped back to avoid getting wet and made a hasty retreat. Ducking behind an archway a few doors down Neal waited for the patrolling guard to discover the water seeping out from under the door. By the time the guard made the rounds there was a sizable puddle. Just as Neal had hoped the guard shut off the water and asked the other man to help him with a clean up. They would wait till morning to call a plumber since calling in the middle of the night would cost a fortune. The first guard grumbled something about the whole building being close to falling apart as they started the time consuming clean up.

With the guards distracted Neal had free run of the main gallery. Getting to the entrance he pressed himself against the archway to peek in at the cameras. He was surprised to find that they had stopped sweeping entirely and gone into a default that was stationary. Luckily for him they had stopped in such a way that he would be able to weave a path to the case with the egg. He wouldn't be off screen completely, but he could play the angles to keep his face hidden.

Keeping in mind where the cameras were Neal snaked through the exhibit to the case. Getting there Neal was caught off guard by the fact that the real Faberge Egg was sitting inside on a velvet pillow. Neal had a hard time believing that Peter wanted him to actually risk the valuable porcelain egg by removing it from the museum. Digging his cell phone out of his pocket Neal texted Peter.

_'Do you really want me to take this?'_

_'Yes._' Peter texted back almost instantly. _'I will meet you out back.'_

Neal read the text twice just to make sure he was reading it right. Deciding to go ahead with it Neal inspected the case and found that they hadn't had time to update it. Neal had brought the magnet along with him and used it to disarm the alarm so he could lift up the glass case. All in all Neal could understand why the museum and Peter wanted another test, the few suggestions they had taken weren't nearly good enough.

With the powerful pain killer still in full swing in his blood Neal's hand didn't give him the same kind of trouble that it had earlier. Still he decided to use his left hand to reach in and take the multi million dollar prize just in case. He tucked the egg away in the bag making sure that it was safe. Neal quickly made his way down to the loading dock. They had put an alarm on the door that would go off when the door was opened from the inside, but it wasn't a high quality one and Neal easily disarmed it by cutting a few wires.

Neal stepped out into the alley and found himself in almost total darkness. When he had arrived at the museum there were two street lights that had lit up the alley. Both lights were off now. Before Neal could think on the lights being out he was blinded by a car that pulled up the alley with its brights on. Neal raised his hand up and tried to shield his eyes from the sudden invasion of light as two men got out of the car and approached him. Squinting against the harsh light Neal was having trouble seeing after being in the relative darkness of the museum. About all he could make out was their height and outline backlit against the headlights.

"Peter? Jones?" Neal guessed as to who was with Peter.

"Did you get it?" Peter asked.

"You doubted me?"

"Where is it?"

Neal held up the bag and it was quickly taken away from him. Neal's eyes had almost adjusted to the brightness when suddenly the headlights on the car shut off. Plunged into darkness Neal was momentarily disoriented as the persistent dizziness was triggered by the change in the lights. Neal blinked hard as he struggled to see. Peter seemed satisfied by the egg and he and Jones retreated back to the car without a word. Blinding Neal once more as he started up the car and flashed the lights back on Peter threw the car into reverse and left.

Alone in the dark alley Neal furrowed his brow at his partner's odd behavior. The percocet decided to give out on him as his shoulder slowly began to ache once more. Still a little stunned Neal remained standing in the lonely alley as his eyes slowly readjusted to the dark.

"Good job, Neal." Neal growled to himself in his best impersonation of Peter's voice. "Thank you for getting up in the middle of the night and helping out on this case. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Think nothing of it, Peter, you know I'd do anything for you." Neal replied to himself. "I'm always up for using my myriad of skills for anything as long as it makes your life easier, not to mention advances your career."

"I certainly wouldn't be where I am today without you."

"I know."

Neal ended his imaginary conversation with Peter with a sour look as the sky opened up and began to rain. The icy drizzle quickly soaked Neal to the skin. Holding his aching arm close against his chest Neal sighed heavily and looked around at the dark wet alley.

"Don't worry about me, I'll just walk home. It's not as if I'm exhausted and in pain or anything. See you at the office tomorrow...for my next thankless task."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"Help! Agent down!"

_'Agent down?'_ Neal repeated Peter's panicked cry in his mind as he tried to make sense of it. At first he had thought that Jones or Diana might have been hit, but when Peter repeated himself as he dropped down next to Neal and pressed hard against the hemorrhaging in his shoulder Neal figured the call for help was meant for him. Not really making the connection to the fact that he was gravely injured Neal was more focused on if it was instinct or something more that had caused Peter to call out for help with that particular phrasing.

"Neal, stay with me." Peter ordered.

_'I'm not going anywhere.'_ Neal thought to himself in a haze of confusion.

Everything had happened so fast that Neal's thoughts were very disjointed about what was truly going on. Turning his head to the side he stared into Rebecca's dull sightless eyes. She was laying in a dark congealing pool of blood that had oozed from her ruined chest. Neal was horrified to see her dead, and yet at the same time it didn't come as a surprise even though he couldn't remember what had happened to her. She was laying near him which helped him realize that he must be laying on the ground as well.

'_What happened? Peter...we have to help her..._'

Neal couldn't wrap his mind around the concept that she was beyond help even though he was looking at her motionless body. Fighting with his broken thoughts and memories Neal tried to sit up only to find that Peter had him pinned down with a surprising amount of force. Deep in shock and becoming increasingly anxious he looked to Peter for answers. The panic and fear in Peter's eyes worried Neal and only added to his confusion. Peter never panicked, Neal had seen him held at gun point countless times and he never even flinched.

Peter kept one hand pressed down hard against Neal's shoulder while he used his free hand to pull at Neal's tie to loosen it. Neal hadn't even known he'd been struggling for breath until Peter tore open his collar allowing him to breathe more freely. With his chest now heaving for each breath Neal was starting to become aware of the pain as well, a deep throbbing ache that was beginning to lance down his arm. He tried to ask Peter what was going on, but he couldn't seem to actually speak.

When the paramedics arrived Jones had to physically pull Peter away from Neal so that they could do their jobs. Peter stepped back revealing that the front of his shirt and his hands were dripping in blood. Terrified Neal tried once again to sit up only to be held down by the paramedics. Peter stood motionless with his hands held away from his body as if he needed to preserve the blood on his hands.

_'Peter?_' Neal still couldn't find his voice. _'Are you okay?'_

"I had to take the shot," Peter said to no one in particular "she was going to kill him. I know she was."

Peter's confession triggered Neal's memory and with a rush of adrenaline the entire scene flooded back to him. He had been on the brink of ending things peacefully when Peter had arrived and everything had gone wrong in the blink of an eye. There hadn't been any need for blood shed or death. Neal closed his eyes as the blood loss became more critical, tears sliping from the corners of his eyes.

"Don't you dare die, Neal. I'll never forgive myself."

_'I have to live. I need to know if I can forgive you...'_

Neal had lost consciousness at that point and he was similarly passed out at the moment. Getting home from the museum around five in the morning he had gone directly to bed, shoes and all. He was sleeping so deeply that he was practically as close to death as he had been after being shot. When his phone rang out at six thirty he jerked violently expecting to find himself still laying on the cold ground at the Fort. Rolling over onto his back Neal stared up at his ceiling for a moment before digging the irritating phone out of his pocket.

"Peter..." Neal answered his phone still half asleep. "I really need the day off."

"I'm sorry, Neal, I need you down at the museum."

"Again? Peter, if this is some sort of twisted scheme to get me to never want to step foot in an art museum ever again...it's working."

"I wish." Peter huffed. "Jones will be outside your apartment in fifteen minutes to give you a ride."

"Tell him to bring coffee." Neal sighed.

"All ready on it."

"Really?"

"I know you haven't been sleeping well, and I'm sorry to drag you out of bed." Peter said sympathetically. "You know it couldn't hurt just to talk with the department psycholo..."

"If Jones is on his way I need to run through the shower." Neal interrupted. "See you soon."

"Alright, Neal. Thank you."

Hearing the sincerity in Peter's voice Neal got the feeling that Peter didn't like working on this museum case any more than he did. It would explain some of Peter's behavior the night before if he had been irritated by having to waste his time trying to prevent a heist that probably wasn't going to happen in the first place. Sitting up Neal forced himself to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom to take a shower.

It took Neal slightly more than fifteen minutes to get ready and Jones was already downstairs waiting for him. Jones was leaning back against his car with a cup of coffee in each hand, one of which he was drinking himself. He held the other one out to Neal who took it gratefully.

"Thank you, Jones."

"Feel special, Caffrey," Jones chuckled "I usually only fetch coffee for the Boss."

"I do feel special." Neal managed a smile and took a long pull at the dark brew. "This is good, where did you get it?"

"A little place over on Hanover and fourth."

"So the coffee is better on the other side of my radius." Neal smiled.

"Which you don't have anymore."

"Good point. Let's go, making Peter wait is not going to put him in a better mood."

"No it's not and he's certainly not a bear you want to be poking today."

"Great."

Feeling like he had a hangover Neal wasn't very talkative on the short ride to the museum and that seemed to suit Jones just fine. By they time they got there Neal had downed the large coffee and was feeling better with some caffeine in his system. Neal was surprised to see that the museum had been closed down for the day. There was an employee outside that Jones had to flash his badge at to get past. Peter was inside talking to the curator but he excused himself as Neal approached.

"Morning, Peter."

"Late night?" Peter asked as he noticed the dark circles under Neal's eyes.

"Very funny." Neal replied drily.

"Why is that funny?"

Neal didn't even bother with an answer. Peter studied Neal for a moment, looking like he was about to say something. In the end Peter just turned and lead Neal towards the main gallery. Neal's heart automatically jumped when he saw the full FBI forensic's team going over the scene with a fine tooth comb. Neal looked to Peter for an explanation but Peter was busy looking around making sure that nothing was being missed by the team.

"Peter, why is the forensics team here?"

"Because last night the Faberge Egg was stolen."

"What?" Neal asked in confusion.

"Yeah, apparently they rappelled down from the roof into an open window, cut the power to the cameras so they would stop sweeping and then distracted the guards so they could get into the main gallery."

"Um..."

"The added security wasn't nearly good enough, and now they are blaming us."

"I see." Neal said with his heart suddenly in his throat. "Any...uh...any suspects?"

"That's why you're here."

"Me?"

"This was a very professional job." Peter said. "I know you know all of the truly good players in town. I want you to look around and see if this is the work of anyone you might know."

"Right, of course. I'll just look around then."

"You okay, Neal?"

"Fine. Never better."

"You look a little out of sorts. Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Not as much as I would have liked."

Peter nodded in understanding. Neal was relieved when the irate museum curator called out for Peter's attention and distracted him. When Peter turned to repeat to the curator that they were doing everything they could Neal took the opportunity to snatch Peter's phone out of his pocket. Neal hurried over to the glass case where the egg had been to make it look like he was working. The forensic team had finished their work around it and gave Neal some space. Glancing around to make sure Peter wasn't watching Neal brought up Peter's phone and breathed on the glass front to reveal the oil smudge that was on the surface. The smeared design on the glass gave Neal the combination to the swipe lock on the phone. Knowing Peter was right handed let him know to start at the top left corner.

Neal held his breath with his heart pounding as he unlocked Peter's phone and scrolled into his 'recent calls' directory. Neal searched through the list, but there was no evidence in the phone of Peter calling him in the middle of the night. Remembering that he had texted Peter to get confirmation on actually taking the egg Neal flicked over to Peter's text history. Peter kept all texts back and forth, but there was nothing there from the previous night. Neal knew it was easy enough to erase call lists and texts, but looking over at Peter arguing with the curator he got the sinking suspicion that it wasn't that simple.

"I've been conned...again."


	8. Chapter 8

NOTE: Well I'm still having fun. Giggle. I forgot how enjoyable working with this pair is.

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><p>Chapter Eight<p>

"Why are you smiling like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're trying to blind me."

"This is just how I smile, Peter." Neal said innocently.

Peter narrowed his eyes and regarded Neal suspiciously causing Neal to intensify his grin. Standing next to the empty display case with Peter's phone hidden behind his back Neal was still working on figuring out what had happened last night and how best to deal with it now. The bright smile when Peter had stepped up to him had been a stall tactic to distract Peter from asking questions Neal didn't have the answers to just yet. Peter made a noise that was a perfect mix of disapproval and defeat, something that he had perfected over the years working with Neal.

"This is a disaster." Peter sighed.

"Tell me about it." Neal agreed.

"You did your job, Neal. If they had taken all your suggestions I doubt this would have happened."

"It certainly would have been a lot harder to get in if they had. The open window was a lucky break."

"Lucky break?"

"You told me that they came in through a window."

"I didn't say anything about it being left open."

"I just assumed."

Neal wasn't sure why he'd just been so careless in his conversation. The last thing he wanted right now was Peter suspecting that he had something to do with the break in. Although part of him wanted to confess to the 'crime' and explain to Peter the bizarre set of circumstances that had lead to it. However when he opened his mouth to say something he found himself speechless.

"Peter, they're ready." Jones called out.

"Be right there."

When Peter turned to acknowledge Jones Neal took the chance to return Peter's phone to his jacket pocket. Peter turned back to talk to Neal and took a step back when he found the con artist suddenly a step closer than he had been a second ago. Neal swore internally to himself for being slower than usual but outwardly just offered Peter another smile. He wasn't on top of his game at the moment and he was having a hard time avoiding rookie mistakes.

"Come on, they have the footage from the cameras ready for review." Peter explained.

"Do we know what the person or persons look like who stole the eggs in Europe?"

"No. However I highly doubt that this is connected to those break ins."

"Why do you say that?"

"Both of those jobs were pulled off by violent men, they left three guards and one staff member who was working late dead during the two heists. If they'd been here last night they wouldn't have bothered with distracting the guards, they would have just killed them."

"These eggs aren't worth enough on the black market to add murder to a job unless someone paid up front for them for more than they are worth. I think there may be an end buyer in common, someone very powerful."

"That is a thought, but I think those are just your own ethics talking, Neal."

"What?"

"People murder for nothing more than the cash in their victims wallets all the time. Not every thief has the same high moral code that you have."

"You think I have good morals?" Neal teased.

"You know what I mean, Neal."

"I do," Neal chuckled "I just like hearing you admit that I have positive traits."

"Congratulations on not being a psychotic killer."

"Thank you."

Peter managed a slight smile before he turned to head off towards the back offices where the video was set up on the computer. Jones was already in the office but he had waited for Peter and Neal to join him. Neal gave the monitor an anxious glance as he tried to remember just how careful he'd been about the angles. He hadn't wanted to get his face caught on camera out of professional pride, but at the same time he hadn't really worried about it since he thought he was there on Peter's orders. The job had been made a lot easier by the fact that he hadn't felt like the stakes were all that high. The only consequences to carelessness should have been Peter gloating over having 'caught' him.

Suddenly feeling nauseous Neal realized with horror that he was physically starting to sweat. He was worried about what the tape would reveal, but he didn't feel like that should be enough to set off such a strong reaction. He had been far closer to being caught by Peter for doing far worse things without breaking sweat before. To make matters worse the all too familiar ache in his bones was returning. Neal didn't have any of his percocet on him at the moment, he'd forgotten it on the kitchen counter.

With his heart racing Neal shook his head slightly to try and clear it. Ignoring the discomfort he forced himself to focused on the problem at hand as Jones brought up the black and white surveillance footage. The program opened up and showed a freeze frame of the empty main gallery. The video quality was mercifully pixilated and generally low quality, something that Neal was now grateful that they hadn't fixed even though he'd pointed it out to them before.

"Alright let's get a look at our gal." Jones said as he looked for the play button.

"Gal?" Neal questioned automatically. "What makes you think it was a woman?"

"Just a hunch. The window they slipped through was barely open, and then there is the fact that they used the woman's restroom to set the distraction."

"That doesn't mean it was a woman, it just means they were clever."

"What?"

"If something had gone wrong in the men's room the male guards would have been more suspicious of there being an intruder. However having to go into the woman's restroom would have been uncomfortable for them on some level since it is not a place they are usually allowed to go. They would be more focused on fixing the problem as quickly as they could so that they could leave rather than thinking about a possible trap."

"Naw, I don't buy that." Jones shook his head. "Twenty buck there's a woman on this tape."

"Sure," Neal shrugged "I'll take your money."

Jones clicked 'play' on the computerized surveillance footage and it began rolling. He pressed fast forward looking for the point where the camera stopped sweeping. Once he got to that point he slowed down the fast forward and eventually pressed the normal play when Neal appeared on screen. Neal tensed with his pulse pounding in his ears from fearing he'd been caught. In the video Neal had his back to the camera, but he felt that it was painfully obvious that it was him. He hadn't realized how disheveled he'd been when he'd rolled out of bed and headed to the museum, his hair was going in a thousand directions at once.

"Peter, I..." Neal started an explanation

"Damn it." Jones muttered as he fished a twenty out of his wallet.

"Never bet against a con artist, Jones." Peter chuckled.

"Yeah, whatever." Jones said as he handed over the money.

"Thanks." Neal forced a smile and tucked the bill into his pocket.

"You know that guy looks an awful lot like you, Caffrey." Jones pointed out as the footage continued to roll.

"He has the same build." Peter agreed as he inspected the poor image. "But Neal would never be caught dead on tape with his hair looking like that."

"Good point." Jones chuckled.

"Very funny." Neal said as he relaxed slightly.

"What is he doing?" Peter asked as he hit rewind and rewatched a section. "Right there, it looks like he's...texting?"

"Who stops in the middle of a robbery to text?" Jones asked.

"Someone with a lot of confidence." Peter replied. "Someone with a lot of experience with this sort of work. Neal do you have any thoughts on wh..."

Peter stopped mid-sentence as he turned away from the monitor and looked at Neal. All of the color had drained from Neal's face as his nausea suddenly spiked. Peter took a step towards Neal in concern. Unable to control his rebelling stomach Neal dropped down on one knee and snatched the waste bin from under the desk. Neal hadn't eaten much in the past twenty-four hours so he ended up dry heaving violently.

"Jones, can you get Neal some water?" Peter asked calmly.

"Sure thing."

"I'm okay." Neal said unconvincingly as he caught his breath.

Jones left to get some water leaving Peter and Neal alone. Neal put the waste bin down and took a deep breath. Peter gave Neal some space while he worked to settle his still upset stomach. When Neal was ready to get up Peter offered him his hand to help. Neal instinctively reached up with his right hand to take Peter's causing a sharp pain to lance down his arm. Managing not to cry out Neal just ground his teeth together as he got to his feet without Peter's help. Once up Neal took another breath to recover.

"Neal?" Peter asked quietly.

"I'm still having some pain." Neal admitted.

"I can see that. Come on, let's get you to the hospital."

"What? No. It's not that bad."

"You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm just tired, and all I've had today is a cup of coffee. Besides the doctor says he's done all he can. I just need a little time and something to eat."

Peter studied Neal, looking like he was trying to pick his next words carefully. Before he could come up with anything Jones returned with a glass of water. Neal thanked Jones and sipped at the cold water. Peter watched Neal as he finished the water, looking like he was ready to catch Neal in case he suddenly dropped. Not really feeling much better, but determined to hide it, Neal stayed on his feet.

"Jones," Peter said "send that footage to the lab and see if they can clean it up any."

"You got it."

"I'm going to take Neal home."

Neal didn't have the energy to argue let alone walk all the way home so he accepted the ride. He was grateful that Peter was content to ride in silence. It wasn't very far back to Neal's apartment above June's estate. Peter pulled the car up to the curb, but kept it running. Neal went to get out of the car but Peter reached out and put his hand on Neal's arm to stop him.

"Peter..."

"Neal, I'm worried about you."

"I know, and I appreciate that, I really do. I just need a day to collect myself and get some sleep."

"Take the rest of the week off."

"The week? What about the Kandinsky sale?"

"Forget it. I can't send you undercover like this."

"Peter, I'm fine. I can do it, more than that I want to. A win right now is exactly what I need."

"We can talk about it later. In the meantime if there is anything I can do..."

Peter left the offer open in hopes that Neal might ask for something. Neal just smiled and thanked him. Peter looked concerned as Neal got out of the car, but he didn't do anything to stop him this time. Neal stood just outside Peter's car with the door still open, lost in thought. Finding himself unable to just leave Neal got back in the car and closed the door.

"Neal?" Peter asked when Neal didn't say anything.

"Peter, you know we're good, right? At least I think we are."

"If you say we are then we are." Peter assured.

"Good."

"Neal..." Peter hesitated to continue. "Neal, I need you to be extra careful now that you are off your anklet."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that there are a lot of people who would love nothing more than for you to fail."

"Do you think I'm going to?"

"I wouldn't have given you this chance if I didn't believe you were ready for it."

Neal just smiled and after an awkward pause he got out of the car again. Peter watched Neal approach the front door to June's. It didn't escape his notice that Neal reached out with his left hand to open it rather than his right. Neal looked back over his shoulder and flashed Peter a weary smile before disappearing inside. Peter had been hopeful that Neal was going to finally going to open up, but he wasn't surprised when he didn't.

"I hope you haven't failed already." Peter sighed to himself.

Peter considered going up and knocking on Neal's door, but he thought better of it. Throwing the car in gear Peter pulled out into the street and started to drive to the office. Peter's phone rang, he glanced at his dash display to see the caller before pressing the button on steering wheel that operated the hands free.

"What do you need, Jones?" Peter answered the call.

"Is Caffrey still with you?"

"No, I dropped him off at home."

"Do you think that's him on the tape?"

"I seriously hope not."

"But you're not ready to dismiss the idea that it could be?"

"It's Neal, I can never just dismiss his involvement." Peter said with a heavy heart. "But I honestly believe there is a good chance it's not him, it wouldn't make any sense for it to be."

"What do you mean?"

"Neal needs sleep a hell of a lot more than he needs money right now. There's no reason for him to take that egg."

"And you think Caffrey hasn't stolen for no reason in the past?"

Peter didn't answer out loud because he didn't like the one that he had in his head.

"Peter?" Jones asked. "You still there?"

"I'm here."

"I can get Caffrey's phone records, the guy on the tape was texting. We can see if..."

"No." Peter said quickly. "With Neal's new contract I would need to get a warrant to get those records and I can't officially pursue Neal as a suspect right now."

"Why not?"

"Because it will destroy any chance he has at release. He will be back on his anklet the second I ask for that warrant and even if he ends up being innocent the damage will have already been done. I can't risk that for Neal, not until I have better evidence that it's him on that tape."

"Peter, I gotta ask...why did you recommend taking Caffrey off his anklet?"

"I didn't."

"What? You told them it was a bad idea and they did it anyway?"

"No, I mean they never even asked me."


	9. Chapter 9

Note: I got such positive response last chapter that it charged me to write the next chapter a little quicker than normal. Hugs to all!

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><p>Chapter Nine<p>

"Neal is not going to like this."

Shaking his head sadly Mozzie rolled up the abstract painting that his source had gotten for him and slipped it into a cylindrical carrying case. Painting in hand Mozzie made his way through the city towards Neal's apartment. It was only three in the afternoon and Mozzie wasn't expecting Neal to be home. Not having heard about the museum break in he assumed that Neal would still be at the office with Peter working on the details for the Kandinsky case. He had come over early in hopes that Neal hadn't opened the Chateau Palmer 2011 Bordeaux yet.

Mozzie had his own key to Neal's apartment and let himself in without knocking. Stepping inside Mozzie headed over to the kitchen table to put down the carrying case. He furrowed his brow at the piles of open books and print outs that were scattered across the table. Picking up the nearest book he found that it was a Russian History book that was open to a page on Tsar Alexander III. Putting down the book Mozzie glanced at the other research on the table that all focused on Russia circa 1880-1920 along with a large amount of information on Faberge eggs.

Mozzie already knew that eight of the fifty-two original Imperial Eggs had been lost when the treasures of the Romanov family had been confiscated after the bloody Revolution of 1917. Neal had clearly spent a good deal of time digging deeper into the history and the fate of the famed jeweled eggs. Mozzie knew that Neal was helping a local museum with the security of an Imperial Egg that was going to be displayed, but Neal hadn't seemed all that interested in the actual egg just in the weak security that surrounded it.

"Although he is off anklet, and he knows the place in and out by now." Mozzie mused to himself with a smile. "Perhaps the Neal I knew is still in there after all. It would be a fun score after giving them instructions on how to keep it safe."

Mozzie resisted the urge to call Neal and ask him if he had the egg or if he was planing on getting it soon. Instead he went over to the counter to retrieve a wine glass and hopefully the Chateau Palmer. Getting to the counter Mozzie spotted an orange prescription bottle that was sitting next to the sink. Reading the label told him that although the bottle was for a legal prescription for Percocet the prescription itself had expired over a month ago. Opening the bottle Mozzie only need a quick glance to tell him that there were just as many pills if not more than when the prescription was first filled.

"Not good."

Mozzie knew Neal was still in pain and that the medical system had given up on him so he was confident that these pills had come from a less than legal source. Unsure how to best handle the possible drug addiction Mozzie put the bottle back down where he'd found it. Opening the Chateau Palmer Mozzie poured a glass. Wine in hand Mozzie wandered across the apartment towards the large glass doors that looked out over the city.

Admiring the beauty of New York in the late afternoon sun Mozzie took a sip of the expensive Bordeaux. Making a noise of appreciation for the complex wine Mozzie wondered if there was any sharp cheddar in the fridge to pair with it. Turning around Mozzie spotted Neal sprawled out on the high backed antique couch. Wearing his dress pants and white under shirt tank top Neal didn't look like he was breathing. More terrifying than his stillness were his half open eyes that showed nothing but white.

"Neal!" Mozzie cried in alarm as he dropped his wine glass.

Neal snapped his eyes open at the sound of Mozzie's voice that had been quickly followed by the sharp sound of breaking glass. Jolted awake Neal scrambled up and over the back of the couch and landed on the far side with a heavy thud. Stunned by Neal's reaction Mozzie stood frozen for a moment.

"Neal?"

"Ow." Neal complained.

Mozzie ran around the couch where Neal was just sitting up. Neal looked up at Mozzie with an irritated expression.

"Mozzie, what the hell are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?"

"I live here."

"I mean why aren't you at work with the Suit?"

Neal didn't answer he just sighed heavily. He got to his feet and turned away from Mozzie to head into the kitchen. Mozzie's breath hissed across his teeth as he caught sight of the healed exit wound on Neal's shoulder that was peeking out from the back of his tank top. Mozzie had seen the relatively small scar in the front of Neal's shoulder but he hadn't seen the substantial damage that had been done in the back. It was the characteristic trauma caused by a hollow point bullet at close range, an ammo choice that in Mozzie's mind showed that Rebecca had no mercy. Having been poisoned by her himself Mozzie had no doubt that Rebecca would have killed Neal, one of the few times in his life that he was in total agreement with Peter.

Seeing the open Bordeaux Neal made a noise of frustration. Neal reached up to open the cabinet to get a glass but couldn't raise his shoulder up high enough to reach. Abandoning the effort he just took a deep pull directly from the bottle. Still ignoring his guest Neal opened the prescription bottle and fished out a pair of the white pills. Crunching the bitter pills between his teeth Neal turned his attention back to Mozzie.

"Neal, don't chew those."

"What?"

"Percocet is not meant to be chewed, it hits the blood stream too fast and has a greater risk of over dose. Speaking of which..."

"I'm fine, Mozzie."

"Says the man who is drinking directly from the bottle and chasing it down with pills."

"Rough day."

"I'm sensing that. Want to talk about it?"

Neal looked at the wine bottle in his hand and put it down on the counter without drinking from it again. Going over to the kitchen table Neal sat down and dragged his hands through his hair. Mozzie came over and sat down across the table from Neal and waited. Neal took a deep breath and looked up at Mozzie.

"I'm losing my touch, Mozz." Neal admitted.

"Does this have anything to do with the Faberge egg that's in town?"

Neal just nodded.

"Did you steal it?"

"I did." Neal nodded. "However I thought I was on the clock."

"What?"

"I thought Peter was the one who asked me to take it. I didn't know I was robbing the place."

"Burglarizing, technically a robbery has to involve force or harm."

Neal shot Mozzie an irritated glance.

"Sorry." Mozzie apologized. "You thought the Suit was in on it? I don't understand."

Neal told Mozzie the whole story of being woken in the middle of the night by 'Peter', getting the egg, and the strange meet up in the alley afterward when he handed it off. Mozzie listened carefully without asking any questions. Finishing the story Neal clenched his hand and shook it out compulsively.

"It sounded exactly like Peter, I swear. His manner was a bit off, but nothing too outside the ordinary. Whoever set me up must have a very high end voice modulator along with some sort of cell phone copying or interfering equipment, and a knowledge that I had been testing the security in the first place. They went to a great lengths to trick me into stealing that egg. Which makes no sense."

Mozzie kept quiet for a moment longer, waiting to see if Neal was about to come to the conclusion that he himself had come to. When it didn't look like Neal was going to continue Mozzie spoke up carefully.

"Neal, there's an explanation that makes sense...a painfully obvious one."

"What?"

"Or rather one that is both obvious and painful."

"Mozzie, just say whatever it is you're thinking."

"Have you given consideration to the idea that Peter's the one who set you up?"

"Peter?" Neal repeated confused.

"Think about it, he puts you on a security case which basically boils down to a recon mission, he gets you off your anklet, then he gives you a nudge to actually commit the crime, while at the same time making it easy to deny that he was invovled. Once he 'catches' you he gets to not only put your anklet back on but add another four to six years to your senta..."

"Stop," Neal snarled "stop right there."

"Neal, you have to look at this objectively. The kind of equipment you're talking about isn't exactly easy to come by, and knowledge of your previous involvement at the museum can't be pubic record. Peter has a lot to gain from..."

"Mozzie!" Neal roared in sudden rage as he pushed himself away from the table and got to his feet. "Enough! I am sick and tired of you trying to drive a wedge between Peter and I!"

"Calm down, Neal."

"No!" Neal hissed. "Peter would never do that to me!"

"Neal..."

"Get out! I can't deal with you right now."

Neal had become so upset that he was panting for breath. Mozzie had no doubt that the drugs were playing at least some part in Neal's emotional instability but it still hurt to have him lashing out at him. Neal had his arm curled up against his chest as his agitation grew. Mozzie slowly got to his feet, but he didn't have any intention of leaving. Seeing Mozzie stand Neal suddenly looked remorsefully.

"Mozzie, I'm sorry."

"Do you trust Peter with your life?" Mozzie asked quietly.

"Absolutely."

"So you must trust him with your well being as well."

"Of course I do."

"Then prove it. Tell him."

"Tell him, what? That I trust him? He knows tha..."

"No." Mozzie shook his head. "Tell him what's going on, everything that has happened."

Neal didn't respond right away.

"If you truly trust Peter then tell him you were conned into stealing the egg, tell him you can't do the Kandinsky forgery."

"Mozzie..."

"Tell him that you're in so much pain that it's driving you to buy drugs off the street."

Mozzie had tried not to sound judgmental about the pain killers, not wanting Neal to just get defensive again. However Neal looked as though he'd just been slapped across the face. There was no denying that Neal needed the medication at the moment, but with his already addiction prone personality it would be a slippery slope for Neal to be on and not one that he should be walking on alone. Mozzie wasn't ready to accuse Neal of having a problem yet, but he wanted Neal to know that at least someone had taken notice. Looking defeated Neal sat back down in the chair heavily and stared blankly at the research spread across the table.

"Well?" Mozzie demanded.

"I would, but..."

"Neal, when it comes to true trust there is no 'but'. It's all or nothing."


	10. Chapter 10

NOTE: Once again I can not thank you all enough for the wonderful support! I'm on a short vacation from work so I've got some time to keep you all happy!

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><p>Chapter Ten<p>

"Well could you have him call me back as soon as possible? This is very important."

"I will inform him that you called, Agent Burke."

"Thank you."

Peter hadn't even tried to hide the irritation in his voice. He knew there was no chance of getting called back, this marked the sixth message he had left at the Washington office in two days. He knew he had no hope of speaking to the Deputy Director, or even the Associate Deputy Director. However he was becoming increasingly frustrated by not even being able to get the ear of the Executive Assistant Director of Criminal Investigations, who was actively avoiding his calls. Neal's new contract had been signed by the Director Comey himself which was more surprising than the release itself.

From the moment he had gotten the order to take Neal's anklet off Peter had been trying to track down exactly who had proposed the idea. The Director had signed it, but he doubted that he had anything to do with the actual drafting of the deal. The Director had a whole staff of people who screened things for his approval. It was more likely that someone of influence who had something to gain from Neal's release had 'bought' the signature. The brick wall that Peter kept coming up against was the fact that he couldn't think of anyone who would benefit from allowing Neal a bit of extra freedom.

Whatever was happening, he didn't like it. Peter's best guess at the moment was that the trap being set wasn't really for Neal but rather for him. He'd made more than a few enemies when he'd turned down the Washington position. There were several Senators who were trying to fill the New York office SAC position with Agents of their own. Agents who would be more willing to turn a blind eye to corporations who donated large sums to political campaigns. Neal's failed reform would be a good step in the right direction to discredit Peter and get him removed. Neal would simply be caught in the political cross fire. Staring at the silent phone on his desk Peter thought about how crazy his own theory about all this sounded.

"I'm becoming paranoid in my old age." Peter muttered to himself.

Peter looked up as Jones knocked at his open door. Peter waved him in and Jones closed the door behind himself. Jones was being careful not to mention Neal's name in connection with the Faberge egg case to anyone other than Peter.

"Did you find anything?" Peter asked not really wanting to hear the answer either way.

"That depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On how well you know the back of Caffrey's hand."

"I have a feeling the answer to that is 'not well enough'."

Jones handed over a folder with a set of glossy photos from the surveillance footage that the lab had cleaned up. The detail was a little better, but not by much. There was only so much that could be done with the poor quality data. Most of the photos were from the back showing a man of Neal's build and height with jet black hair that was the right length to belong to Neal, even it was uncharacteristically mussed.

In one photo they had zoomed in on where the camera had caught a glimpse at the back of the man's right hand. He had taken the leather glove he'd been wearing off long enough to send the text so they got a shot of the bare hand after he'd placed the phone back in his pocket. There were no tattoos, scars, or discernible marks of any kind. Looking closer Peter noticed that despite the lean graceful musculature of the hand the ring and middle finger were curled in towards the palm unnaturally. Peter had noticed Neal clenching and shaking out his hand frequently over the past few weeks since he'd gotten out of the arm sling. Several times he'd seen him forcing his hand open, even though he'd always tried to pass it off as though he was just stretching.

"Think it's Caffrey?" Jones asked when Peter had fallen silent staring at the photo.

"I can't say for sure, it's just a hand. I'm honestly not sure how well I could identify even my own hand if I was given a photo of this quality of it."

"It certainly isn't good enough for a warrant."

"No. Find anything else?"

"Yeah, one of the forensic techs found this." Jones reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small evidence bag. "It's a piece of a coke can. It was clearly cut into that shape on purpose, but we don't know why or if it even has any significance."

Peter took the evidence bag and flipped it over to the clear side to inspect the metal piece. Looking at the 'T' shaped piece of soda can Peter's stomach knotted up slightly. He vividly recalled a case about three years back when they'd had a warrant to search a storage locker that had a combination lock on it that they had cut with bolt cutters. Neal had off handedly mentioned that combination locks were pointless because they could be opened with a simple mental shim that could easily be made with a soda can. Peter hadn't believe him and so the next day Neal brought in a combination lock and a T shaped piece of can to prove it.

"Was there a combination lock on the fuse box?"

"Yes, it had been opened not cut. The museum guard said that they had just added the lock on Caffrey's recommendation."

"Neal specifically recommended a Master Lock with a key not a combination lock. For this exact reason, this was used to open the combination lock." Peter said handing the evidence back to Jones.

"Clever."

"If it was Neal he wouldn't have been expecting to come across a combination lock."

"So?"

"He wouldn't have brought this with him, he would have bought the soda from the break room machine. Even if it wasn't Neal, no matter who it was probably didn't bring the can piece with them. Also fishing change out with a leather glove on isn't easy."

"You think there might be a print on one of the quarters in the machine?"

"It's a long shot, but worth checking the coins."

"I'll go arrange to get them right now."

"Thanks, Jones."

"What are you going to do if this was Caffrey?"

"I don't really want to think about it." Peter admitted. "I won't be able to help him this time. Neal will go back to prison."

"That could be a death sentence for him at this point. Informants are already targets in prison and he's helped you put away a lot of dangerous men over the past few years."

"Neal knows that just as well as we do."

"True, but he's not one to care much about consequence."

"There is someone else who would know both of those facts as well." Peter mused to himself.

"Who?"

"The brass in Washington who let him off leash."

"Have you been talking to Mozzie?" Jones asked seriously. "You think Neal's release from his anklet is part of some kind of conspiracy to get him killed in prison? That sounds like a bit of a stretch."

"I know," Peter sighed "but I can't shake the feeling that Neal's been given just enough rope to hang himself at a point in his life when he's very likely to do so."


	11. Chapter 11

NOTE: I don't think I have ever written a story as quickly as I am getting this one down on paper. This damn thing is coming very close to an obsession of mine. I have to admit though that it has been so much fun to write and I'm thrilled by the response it has been getting, although I will not be able to keep up this pace through the whole thing. Enjoy this chapter...I need to go rest my poor typing fingers.

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><p>Chapter Eleven<p>

Neal was on the run, or at least he was out for one. With sweat dripping from his hair he pushed a hard pace through the dark streets of Manhattan towards Central Park. It was four in the morning and the park was officially closed but that didn't keep Neal from jumping the low utility road gate and heading into the urban forest. The park had once been infamous for its nocturnal crime, but in the past decade there had been a significant drop in after dark crime. As Neal sprinted through the park he figured that anyone who could catch him deserved the money in his wallet.

After he had convinced Mozzie that he was okay and that he could be left alone Neal had wanted nothing more than to dive back into the prescription bottle that sat on the counter. In an effort to show both Mozzie and himself that he had the medication under control Neal had resisted the urge. He'd spent the next six hours working on ignoring the quickly escalating pain. When yoga failed he'd tried Tia Chi, which had better results, but in the end he had needed sleep and was forced back to the drugs.

Only taking three and swallowing them rather than chewing them Neal had managed to get about four hours of sleep before he was woken by a powerful muscle spasm. His hand had been curled up so tightly that his nails had left deep half-moon marks in his palm. Frustrated by the attack Neal had thrown on a pair of running pants and an athletic shirt and hit the streets. He had been running for about an hour now and his shoulder was screaming at him to stop with each step.

Not about to even slow down Neal continued through the park until he came out the other side and then headed off towards the residential area. Part of him hoped that the grueling run would physically tear something open in his shoulder, at least if there was some visual damage the doctors would be forced to believe in the pain he was having. Another half hour of running at his top speed it was no longer Neal's shoulder that was demanding that he slow down, but rather his heart and lungs. As fit as he was there were always limits to human endurance.

Heaving for breath and literally drenched to the skin Neal finally slowed down to a light jog for a mile. When he finally did stop Neal was surprised to find himself on the sidewalk outside Peter's house. Part of the reason Neal had gone running was that he found it was easy to clear his mind when his body was just focused on taking the next step and getting the next breath of air. Automatically arriving at Peter's house proved that he hadn't cleared his thoughts as well as he had hoped.

Neal didn't think for one second that Peter had set him up for the museum job, but he still couldn't get Mozzie's words about trust out of his head. Neal slicked his wet hair back and out of his eyes before stepping up to Peter's front door. It was just past five in the morning and it wouldn't be too long before Peter was getting up to get ready for work. Standing outside the closed door Neal hesitated to knock.

"I should tell him. What's the worst that could happen?" Neal asked himself. "...I could end up shived through the kidneys and bleeding out on a cold prison shower room floor."

Neal was well aware of the risks and dangers to be found in prison. He had been attacked on five separate occasions during his last stay, and that was before anyone knew or cared who he was. They had just been relatively mild beatings due to random prison violence. Having spent the past few years as a highly successful CI would land him near the top of the list of inmates to be singled out and brutally murdered. Neal figured that the warden probably wouldn't even bother putting him in the computer system, they'd just shove him out into the exercise yard and have the guards turn their backs for a few minutes while 'nature' took its course. There would be less paperwork involved with his death that way.

Still standing on the front step of Peter's house Neal discovered that at least one member of the Burke family was awake. Satchmo had nudged aside the front drapes and was staring at Neal. The loyal lab didn't bark, he just watched Neal in curiosity with his tail wagging. Feeling on some level as though he'd been caught Neal lifted his finger to his lips to silently ask the dog to remain quiet as he backed away from the front door. Satchmo stayed in the window until Neal was on the sidewalk and then he disappeared back into the house.

After taking one last look around Neal jogged off down the street before Satchmo could go wake Peter. Getting back to his apartment Neal peeled off his clothes and stepped into the shower. Neal knew Peter wasn't expecting him at the office today, but he got dressed as though he was going to go in anyway just in case he decided to. Straightening the deep blue tie he'd chosen Neal noticed a significant reduction in his pain.

"Maybe the doctor is right, maybe it's all just in my head."

Neal didn't really believe that something as severe as what he'd been experiencing could all be psychosomatic, but it did give him hope that he had found something that could possibly help him cut back on the amount of medication he was taking. Going out into the kitchen Neal started a pot of coffee and turned to the research on the table on the Russian eggs while it brewed.

"Someone must be starting an egg collection...but why? And why go through me? Anyone could have pulled off that job with a lot less effort than tricking me into doing it."

Neal furrowed his brow as he spotted the cylindrical carrying case that Mozzie had left on the table. Having been distracted by Neal's issues with the museum and the egg Mozzie had completely forgotten about it. Curious Neal opened the container and pulled out the rolled up Kandinsky. Putting the canvas down he pulled out his phone and dialed Mozzie.

"Neal?" Mozzie answered sleepily.

"Mozzie, what the hell is this?" Neal demanded.

"I don't know, since I'm not in the room with you and have no idea what you're looking at."

"I'm looking at a travesty of art."

"Oh, right, that...uh...it's the Kandinsky you asked for." Mozzie said sheepishly.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me."

"It's the best I could do on such short notice. I'm sure it will fool your buyer."

"It wouldn't fool a four year old." Neal growled.

"I was hoping you could fix it up somehow."

"Mozzie this isn't even a real painting, it's a giclee printing with clear gesso brush strokes over it."

"It's 'museum quality'." Mozzie said defensively.

"Museum Gift Shop quality maybe."

"Neal, I don't know what you expected. Usually if I needed a good quality oil painting forgery in less than five days I would go to you. There isn't anyone local or otherwise that is a fraction as good as you are."

"As I was." Neal corrected bitterly.

"I'm sorry, Neal. I didn't mean to..."

"We need a forgery to use, a good one." Neal interrupted. "Something that already exists, something we can get to Peter." Neal mulled over the problem in his head.

"You've got all sort of good work stored in..."

"I can't just walk into the FBI with some random forgery and say 'Hey, I couldn't do the Kandinsky but I happened to have this laying around'."

"Right, of course."

"The Revue." Neal said suddenly. "We can use The Revue."

"The Everett Shinn you did that's at the Whitney?"

"Yes. It's perfect."

"Not very Russian." Mozzie pointed out.

"Peter thinks that Fisher isn't buying art for art's sake but rather to turn his cash into something more portable for when he disappears. I can always make up some story as to why I didn't bring the Kandinsky to the meet. If he's just looking for art the Revue is worth just as much if not a little more meaning I can give him a good 'deal' on it."

"I still don't see how you're going to get the painting to Peter."

"I'm going to break into the Whitney and when Peter and I are called to the case I can point out the forgery and make the suggestion that we use it in the Fisher case."

"What are you going to tell Peter about the Kandinsky?"

"I had already told him that I might not be able to do it in such a short amount of time. I can present this as a solution."

"I guess that could work." Mozzie said not sounding very keen on the idea.

"Not only that but I can kill two birds with one stone with this Fisher case."

"What do you mean?"

"I think whoever tricked me into stealing the egg is actually collecting them for some reason. I can draw them out with another egg."

"You happen to have one of those hanging around your apartment do you?" Mozzie mocked.

"No, but I do know someone who has one."

"You know someone who has a Faberge Egg and you didn't tell me about it?" Mozzie asked indignantly.

"It's not just any Faberge, it's the Royal Danish."

"One of the lost eight?" Mozzie asked impressed.

"Only seven are still lost, the Third Imperial Egg was found in 2012 by an American scrap metal dealer who almost had it melted down. Actually I guess now there are technically ten lost with the recent thefts."

"Who has the Danish?"

"An old friend." Neal answered evasively. "The important thing is that I think they will be willing to bargain with me for it."

"Bargain with what?"

"I'll be at the Whitney anyway, I'm sure there is something there that they'll want. Once I have the egg I can slip it into Fisher's collection and then when we arrest him the egg will be put into evidence at the FBI and our mystery player will try and trick me into getting it for them. This time we can set a trap of our own."

"...Neal are you high?" Mozzie asked suspiciously.

"No, I haven't had anything in hours. I went for a run this morning, it got my adrenaline up."

"I can see that, you're practically manic. Are sure that it's just percoce..."

"Give it a rest, Mozzie." Neal interrupted. "For the last time: I don't have a drug problem."

"Okay...so let me get this straight, instead of talking to Peter you're planing several more crimes?" Mozzie asked. "Usually I'd be all for it, but this all seems to be just asking for trouble and on top of that none of it sounds like it's going to turn a profit."

"This isn't about money, Mozzie, it is about figuring out who's playing me."

"I know but..."

"Right now my biggest fear is that it isn't Peter who set me up, if it was him and he's just looking to keep me I could live with that...literally."

"I'm not following you at all." Mozzie admitted. "You got pretty pissed at me when I suggested it might be the Suit."

"I still don't think it was him. Which means he probably wouldn't be able to help me even if he wanted to right now."

"Neal..."

"I'm fighting for my life here, Mozzie." Neal said seriously. "If I end up back in prison I won't last a week, I might not even survive my first night. I need to figure out who is doing this to me before I go to Peter for help."

There was a long pause where nothing was said. Neal could easily imagine the look of concern on Mozzie's face as he sat on the other end of the phone line. Mozzie was an expert thief and con man, but as a general rule he had a lower risk tolerance than Neal had. If the score was large enough he'd step out on a limb, but he tended to play it relatively safe and made sure that every step was well planned.

"Neal, I don't say this often, but I think you're getting in way too deep."

"Once you're in deep you've only got two options: sink or swim."

"Either way, Neal, there is a high risk of drowning."

"There is always that risk, Mozzie, but I've never let it stop me before."


	12. Chapter 12

NOTE: I bet you guys had figured that I'd forgotten about you toady. ;)

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><p>Chapter Twelve<p>

"Nick Halden, well aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

"Hello, Vivian." Neal greeted warmly.

"The years have been kind to you." Vivian said approvingly as she looked Neal over with a smile.

"You've barely aged a day yourself."

"Such a sweet tongue. You've always been a master of flattery. I may not look my age, but it has cost me a sizable fortune to keep a step ahead of Father Time." Vivian admitted. "Come inside, Nick, if you dare."

Neal chuckled and stepped inside the opulent beach home that was settled in the center of East Hampton's coast line. Vivian was twenty years older than Neal was, but whoever her surgeon was clearly knew what he was doing, she barely looked forty-five. Looking around the richly decorated front room that held pictures of King Charles Spaniels rather than family Neal got the impression that Vivian never did settle down and marry. A fact that didn't surprise him in the least.

Vivian's leopard print heels by Walter Steiger clicked against the marble floor as she lead Neal into the side drawing room. She wore a deep green dress that Neal guessed had been custom designed just for her with a form fitting top that showed off an impressive bust line that was several sizes larger than Neal remembered them being. The corseted waist kept her in an hour glass figure that the flared knee length skirt accented. Vivian motioned to a plush leather love seat to invite Neal to sit down. Neal accept the offer as Vivian turned towards the wet bar that took up the far wall.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"Water, please. *Just* water." Neal clarified.

"Oh, Nick, it's been a good twenty years since I last drugged anyone."

"That is not true. We last met fifteen years ago and it took me three days to get over the hangover."

"I see you are just as prone to exaggeration as ever." Vivian chuckled as she stepped up to the bar and poured herself half a tumbler of vodka.

"You almost killed me." Neal teased.

"Nonsense. As I recall you had a wonderful time."

"Very little of which I actually remember."

"How was I supposed to know you'd never done any recreational drugs before?" Vivian asked as she poured a glass of water into a crystal glass. She brought over both drinks and offered Neal the water. "I just wanted you to have some fun."

"You wanted information." Neal corrected as he took the glass.

"Among other things." Vivian chuckled with a wink. "Why are we still talking about this? I doubt you hunted me down over some fifteen year old grudge, particularly since you weren't dissatisfied with the results of that night at the time. We were young and foolish...well at least you were young. Are you angry with me?"

"No." Neal assured. "I need a favor."

"Oh." Vivian smiled mischievously and sipped at the vodka. "I like the sound of that very much."

Neal tensed as Vivian invited herself onto the small leather love seat by straddling his lap and sitting on his hips facing him. The rich spicy scent of her Caron's Poivre perfume invaded Neal's senses as she invaded his personal space. Vivian had made her fortune as a world renowned 'Mistress'. She was by no means a prostitute, but rather a collector of rich and powerful men who were hoping to buy her love not her just body. It was a con as old as time and Vivian was one of the best.

"So what can I do for you?" Vivian purred.

"I need something that I gave to you back. I assume you still have it."

"Of course I do, I wouldn't sell it for all the money in the world. What do I get in return?"

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want." Vivian chuckled as she leaned in and kissed the side of Neal's neck.

"Vivian..."

"Still such a traditionalist, sex for love not sport. You're no fun." Vivian sighed as she sat back. "Oh well, you're probably more than my heart can handle these days anyway."

Vivian pushed herself back and got off Neal's lap with surprising grace. Draining the rest of her drink Vivian went back over to the bar that held a phone fashioned to look like an old gold and ivory rotary phone. Neal stretched out his arm and rubbed at his shoulder, having suffered a sudden flare up when Vivian had made herself comfortable. Vivian only briefly spoke into the phone before she walked back over.

"Charles will be here with it soon."

"You're just giving it to me?" Neal asked surprised.

"I do have some guilt over what happened between us all those years ago." Vivian admitted.

"Two people running opposite cons on one another...someone was bound to get hurt."

"Occupational hazard, as they say." Vivian smiled.

With the tension between them reduced Neal and Vivian filled the next twenty minutes with friendly chatter about what they had been doing over the past fifteen years. Neal doubted that a signal word of what Vivian told him was true, but that was okay since everything he told her in return was a lie as well.

Eventually Charles arrived with a steel sided case that was about a foot tall and only slightly smaller in the other two directions with a handle on top. Neal thanked Vivian again and took the case after a quick inspection. Getting into the sports car that Mozzie had gotten for him Neal started on the two and half hour drive back to New York city from the Hamptons. Getting back to the city Neal left the car where he'd found it and continued on foot towards Grand Central Station. Neal fished out his phone and dialed Mozzie.

"Do you have it?" Mozzie asked, trying to sound calm.

"I do." Neal confirmed. "I'm going to drop it off at Schwartz Travel Services for storage."

"Which one? There are several."

"The one near Grand Central."

"It's a shame that Grand Central got rid of their lockers in the renovation, that was a classic drop off site."

"This will be more secure. I'm going to put your Haversham alias on it so you can pick it up too if need be."

"Good idea. Good luck, I'll see you later."

"Good bye, Mozzie."

Neal hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment before slipping it back in his pocket. The travel service was on 46th street and he had already arranged for a small storage locker for the week. After dropping off the case Neal headed over to Greenacre Park on 51st. He found Mozzie sitting at one of the benches working on a small lap top computer. Neal sat down next to him and leaned in to look at the screen.

"Do I know you?" Mozzie asked rudely.

"Mozzie," Neal sighed "anyone who has done research on me knows that we're friends."

"Still can't be too careful."

"Are you into the travel services security cameras?"

"Of course. Anyone goes near that case we will have eyes on them." Mozzie confirmed. "I can't believe you didn't swing by here and let me take a look at the Danish Royal first."

"Mozzie..." Neal admonished with a mock disapproving look.

"Oh." Mozzie said disappointed. "It's not really the Danish Royal at all is it?"

"If I'd really known where one of the lost Faberge Imperial Eggs was don't you think I would have made a move on it years ago?"

"I don't know," Mozzie shrugged "you've got an odd sense of morality at times. What's really in the case?"

"It's an antique crystal chalice set with platinum, diamonds and sapphires."

"So, not an inexpensive trinket to use as bait."

"Not at all."

"Wait...I don't understand if you don't have the egg how are we going to draw them out? I thought that's what they wanted."

"I just needed them to think I have it, which is why I talked to you about it over the phone."

"Of course, you already know your phone is compromised." Mozzie nodded.

"It's more compromised that I first thought. I can't trust my phone or really anyone I talk to on it anymore."

"What happened now?"

"In order to let them know where the case is I called you, and you answered."

"I most certainly did not. The last time we talked was in person this morning when you asked me to tap the security cameras."

"I know, I picked up on that when 'you' asked me which travel service I was taking it to. They do a perfect impression of you just like they did with Peter."

"Impressive."

"Frightening." Neal corrected.

"It's also a little bold of them. I mean they would have to know that you'd figure out it wasn't me as soon as we talked."

"I don't think they care. They already know that I realized it wasn't Peter, all they needed right now was the location of the case."

"These people are organized, Neal. Not to mention keeping a really close eye on you."

"I know." Neal glanced around. "I assume you have your radio scrambler on you?"

"Always, no one who isn't in physical ear shot can pick up on anything we're saying."

"Good. I put the tracker you gave me in the case, but I'm sure they will look for it."

"Never hurts to try."

Neal nodded in agreement and looked out over the park. Since they had been sitting there no one person in particular had looked like they were actively spying on them. Everyone looked like they were coming and going while minding their own business. Of course the best tails were the ones you never suspected, like the mother with her young child resting on the bench across the square from them. Feeling a little paranoid Neal jumped slightly when his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID.

"Hey, Peter." Neal greeted.

_ 'Neal,' _ Peter replied _'feeling any better?'_

"I am."

_'Good. El is down in Washington for the next few days, I was wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner?'_

"Sure, sounds like a plan."

_ 'Seven then?'_

"I'll be there."

Neal hung up the phone and put it back in his pocket. The woman across the way suddenly packed up her daughter's toys and left. Neal watched them walking away while he replayed the phone call he'd just gotten in his head looking for abnormalities.

"What did the Suit want?"

"Peter just invited me to dinner. ...at least I hope it was Peter."


	13. Chapter 13

NOTE: Ugh, what a day. My flight was canceled yesterday and today was only marginally better. Got all the way to New York and then ended up stuck there with a five hour delay! The sad part...I was waiting on a flight that was only going to take 30 mins. Now I'm stuck in Boston (who has free wifi) while I wait for the bus to go the next two hours of the journey. Travel in winter is a baaaaad idea!

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><p>Chapter Thirteen<p>

Peter hoisted a large plastic bag of Chinese take-out up onto the kitchen counter. When El wasn't home he tended to abandon their healthy eating habits somewhat. Fishing out the small white boxes Peter didn't bother with plates. Opening the silverware drawer he got out a fork for himself, Neal would use the small wooden chopsticks that came along with the delivery. Satchmo sat down at Peter's feet and look up at him with a hopeful wag.

"I didn't forget about you." Peter assured.

Peter opened one of the boxes that had white rice that was mixed with plain chicken, no sauce. It was a dish that the local Chinese restaurant made just for dogs. Satchmo jumped up and down in excitement as Peter dumped the contents of the box into his metal bowl. Satchmo dove into the meal with gusto and within mere moments he had wolfed it all down.

"I hope you enjoyed that."

Satchmo wagged enthusiastically. Peter went into the fridge to get a pair of beers when the front door bell rang. Setting the beers down on the counter Peter headed to the front door. Flicking the lock he opened the door to let Neal in. Neal smiled brightly in greeting as he stepped inside and sniffed at the air.

"Take-out?" Neal guessed.

"You didn't expect me to cook did you?"

Neal just laughed and headed in towards the kitchen. Peter was relieved to see Neal relaxed and looking like he might have actually gotten some sleep. Peter followed Neal into the kitchen and opened the beers before handing one over to Neal. Placing a set of chopstick on top of the box marked 'BD' Peter pushed the meal towards Neal who picked it up and peeked inside.

"Ah, Buddhist Delight. My favorite. Thank you, Peter."

"No problem. Let's sit in the living room."

"No plates, no table, not even a napkin. Enjoying a touch of bachelor life?" Neal asked knowingly.

"I hate it when El is away, but I might as well make the best of it."

Neal followed Peter out into the living room. Peter took a space on the couch and Neal sat in the love-seat on the opposite side of the coffee table. Neal separated the bamboo chopsticks and skillfully used them to eat the vegetable and tofu while Peter was satiated just to use a fork for his pork and snow peas. They ate in a comfortable silence while Satchmo sat watching them, ever hopeful for a handout. Peter finished about half his dinner before he set it down on the coffee table. Picking up his beer he took a few pulls.

"I see you were outside my house early this morning." Peter broke the silence with a casual tone. "Anything in particular you wanted to talk about?"

"How..."

"Satchmo told me."

"What?"

"Never underestimate the bond between Master and Dog." Peter chuckled.

"Bad dog," Neal gently chided Satchmo who wagged at him "I thought you could keep a secret."

"He really can't." Peter reached out and rubbed between the lab's ears. "Actually I caught you on the security camera."

"You've got a camera on your front step?"

"I had it installed after Keller took El."

Peter regretted mentioning Keller. He wanted Neal to relax in hopes that it would make him more open to talking about what was going on. Peter knew that something must be on Neal's mind to have ended up at his house in the pre-dawn hours. However upon hearing Keller's name Neal visibly tensed and dropped eye contact.

"Peter, I'm sor..."

"Don't apologize, Neal." Peter said as he leaned back, a body language trick the FBI had taught him to help suspects to feel more at ease and therefore more likely to talk during interrogation. "We got her back, that's all that mattes."

Neal nodded slightly but he didn't relax. Putting down his own box of take-out Neal picked up the beer and sipped at it. Peter waited a moment to see if Neal would continue the conversation. He was obviously thinking about something, but he didn't look any closer to sharing.

"How's your shoulder?" Peter asked, trying a new approach.

"Better."

"What does your doctor say about it?"

"Just that some pain is to be expected after a trauma like this."

"Has he given you anything for it?"

"There is nothing he can do." Neal said dismissivly.

"Nothing?" Peter repeated surprised. "Do you need a new doctor? I can get you one."

"No. I'm managing."

"It's not good enough to just be 'managing', Neal. Injuries like this can lead to more than just physical disabilities. I've seen Agents take hits that weren't half as devastating as the one you took who never truly recovered because they didn't get the help they need. It can be career ending."

"Well, this isn't really a 'career' for me. I don't exactly have the option of an early retirement."

"No, I suppose you don't." Peter agreed. "However, it wouldn't be unreasonable for us to make a case that you've been injured in the line of duty and that you deserve a longer leave of absence."

"Leave of absence? Peter, are you trying to get rid of me?"

"I'm just trying to help." Peter said honestly. "Is there anything I can do? Anything you want to tell me?"

Neal looked away once again as he fidgeted with the beer bottle in his hands. Peter was a little surprised by how much body language Neal was broadcasting, usually he was very careful about not betraying his thoughts with his actions. It was what made him so good at lying, when Neal lied his whole body was in on it, not just his words. He was so good at it that even his heart rate didn't give him away on a polygraph test. Peter didn't need any technology to tell that something was weighing heavily on Neal's mind.

"Peter, I..." Neal hesitated.

Peter leaned forward again to show Neal that he was listening and waited for Neal to decide if he was going to continue or not. Noticing the way that Neal's ring and middle finger were curling in towards his palm Peter had a sinking feeling that Neal was about to tell him about the fate of the Faberge Egg. They were still looking through the coins for fingerprints, so there was still a chance it wasn't Neal since there was no real evidence to prove it was him. Peter suddenly realized that he'd rather get solid physical evidence than hear a confession from Neal. With evidence he'd have no choice on what route to take, if Neal simply told him it opened up a whole new world of gray areas.

"Nea..."

"Peter, I've basically been on a twenty-four hour crime spree from the moment you took my anklet off." Neal confessed.

"What?"

"Oh yeah, non stop crime. I was in the Hamptons this morning conning a woman out of about two million worth of diamonds and sapphires. I hit two banks just on my way over here." Neal smiled brightly. "My whole apartment is basically wall to wall loot. It's amazing."

"You're such an ass, Neal." Peter shook his head as he sat back.

"Me? Look at you. I thought you asked me over here tonight as a friend."

"I did."

"Then why are you acting like a handler?"

"What?"

"Don't play innocent with me, Peter." Neal teased. "I see you changing your body language to encourage me to talk. You learned that in Interrogation 101."

"And you threw it right back at me with your nervous fidgeting." Peter managed a smile. "I should have known you'd never be that easy to read."

"Never play a player."

"Alright, alright, truce." Peter drained the last of his beer. "I did mean what I said about getting you more help if you need it."

"I know." Neal said seriously. "And I appreciate it."

"Let's change the subject." Peter said as he got to his feet. "And get another beer."

"I'm all for that." Neal finished off his beer and offered Peter the empty bottle as he walked by.

Peter took the bottle and headed into the kitchen. After throwing the bottles in the recycle he looked back out in the living room just in time to see Neal rubbing at his shoulder and stretching his hand out. Peter had a feeling that Neal had been close to telling him something important and had lost his nerve at the last minute. The tongue in cheek confession was probably closer to the truth than Peter wanted to know about. Neal had often used humor to cover up other feelings and to evade serious discussions.

"Even if you didn't take the egg you are hiding something." Peter sighed to himself. "Of course that's nothing new. If it was up to me I doubt I'd ever let him off that anklet."

"Peter?" Neal called from the living room. "You say something?"

"No. Nothing important."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

"Any movement on the case?"

"Um..." Mozzie shifted his weight uncomfortably. "It's...uh...it's gone."

"Did you get a look at who took it?"

"No." Mozzie sighed. "They cut the feed on the security cameras before they went in."

"Of course they did." Neal shook his head slightly. "I never really thought they were going to fall for such a simple trap, but I had to try something. I take it they found the tracker?"

"Almost instantly. And now they had several million in diamonds and sapphires."

"No. It's a fake."

"A fake?"

"It had been part of a con I was running years ago on a woman named Vivian. Things got a lot more complicated than I ever planed, she was a much more dangerous mark that I had first guessed...anyway in the end I gave the forgery to her as a gift."

"So all of this was for nothing?"

"It was a low risk, low reward type move. I just didn't have a better card to play."

"You still don't."

"I know."

Neal had been hoping that a bit more information would come from the case trap, but he wasn't in the least bit surprised that it had failed. He looked around Mozzie's 'Thursday' apartment as he shivered with a sudden cold. He was feeling a little guilt over his decision to avoid telling Peter the truth a few hours ago while they were having dinner together, but he knew it was for the best. Since no one was currently blackmailing him over the egg theft Neal felt that what Peter didn't know wouldn't hurt either of them. He would get more information and then seek Peter's help if he needed it.

"No sense in putting Peter in a difficult position...again." Neal muttered to himself.

"What?" Mozzie asked confused.

"Nothing."

"So what do we do next?"

With his arm threatening to seize up on him again and the constant ache in his shoulder turning once more towards a stabbing pain Neal wasn't really interested in his mystery puppet master. He realized he hadn't been thinking very well lately and that made it even more worrisome that he was up against a clever unknown foe, but at the same time he couldn't find it in himself to care right now. Three months of pain was really starting to wear him down. Cradling his arm against his stomach Neal sighed heavily.

"Neal?" Mozzie asked concerned.

"I don't want to play any more." Neal said wearily.

"Nea..."

"I'm going home."

"Are you sur..."

"I can't do this right now," Neal snarled "I am not interested in chasing my tail or jumping at shadows tonight. I just want to be left alone."

Mozzie coward slightly from Neal's sudden harsh tone. Neal thought about apologizing, but he was feeling increasingly sick to to his stomach and just wanted to get home. Leaving Mozzie behind Neal walked home at a quick pace, grinding his teeth from the nervous energy that was prickling under his skin. By the time he got home his arm was nearly paralyzed by the sharp pain that lanced through it. He had told himself he was going to cut back on the pain killers, but tonight he needed them.

"What if this never gets better? I can't keep doing this..."

Going over to the counter Neal struggled with the childproof cap on the prescription bottle. He made the decision that he would take Peter up on his offer to find a new doctor in the morning. Even if the new one didn't believe him at least he would have tried. Finally getting the bottle open he shook six of the pills into his good hand and turned on the tap. Neal didn't noticed that four out of the six white pills were slightly larger than the other two. Downing the handful in one go Neal then splashed some of the cold running water on his face. Drying off with a dish towel Neal stumbled over to the bed and laid down on his back.

Staring at the ceiling Neal expected the effects of the percocet to quickly numb both his body and mind. Usually within a few minutes the drugs would relax him to the point where he didn't have the strength to care about anything. More than just the physical it took the emotional pain away as well. Rachel's betrayal had cut him deeper than he had been willing to admit even to himself, her violent death only made matters worse, and the lingering effects of his ruined shoulder acted as a reminder every second of the day. Now that someone new was after him it was starting to threaten his already stressed sanity. The percocet had been the one release through it all. Once the power opioid took hold the only thing that tended to be on Neal's mind was how comfortable he was, like being wrapped in a soft warm summer's day cloud.

Tonight however something was different, something was wrong. Instead of his breathing slowing down it was becoming more raid and shallow. Despite the fact that he was laying still his heart was beginning to race painfully fast. Breaking into a cold sweat Neal panicked as he spiraled further out of control. Clawing at the sheets Neal arched back as he came close to having a seizure. Gasping sharply Neal managed to sit up as the room spun violently around him. Suddenly feeling like he could out run a race horse Neal got to his feet and paced back and forth as he compulsively dragged his hands through his hair.

"You know what your problem is, Neal? Pride. It always has been, right from the very beginning. That's why you don't go to Peter when it would be so easy to do so. He is always there for you, you are never there for him." Neal rambled to himself, speaking so fast that his words were tripping over one another. "Keller could have killed Elizabeth, and for what? Nazi blood treasure? Why would you even want it? Millions suffered and died having that treasure stolen from them, families across Europe and the world were torn apart and you wanted to profit from that? How could that be a horde that you were ever proud to try and keep? You've got Dragon Sickness, that's your problem, Neal. Greed, pure and simple greed."

Unable to see the erratic change in his own behavior Neal continued to roam aimlessly around the room talking to himself making wild gestures with his hands. His heart was pounding so hard that it was in danger of failing. Putting his palms over his ears Neal growled in frustration at all of the noise that was echoing around inside his head. Neal looked around his apartment in terror as it suddenly appeared to be filled floor to ceiling with the ill gotten goods of the Nazi treasure.

"No, no it's never been about the money." Neal countered his own argument. "It's always been about the thrill about being the best. Or is about control? When was the last time you felt like you had any control over your life, Neal? It's been almost a decade since you've had any say in what happens to you. Prison, Kate, Fowler, Peter, Keller, Hagen, someone is always dictating what you do, someone is always threatening everything you stand for. Stand for? What do I even stand for? It's no small wonder I can't trust Peter, I'm always going behind his back. How can I trust him when he shouldn't trust me?"

Neal fixated on this last point for a moment as he began rubbing at his forearms and grinding his teeth. Neal shook his head to try and clear it but it only scrambled his thinking further. Panting for breath tears slipped down Neal's face as he continued to fall deeper into his drugged psychosis.

"It's happening all over again, someone else out there wants control of me. Why even bother?" Neal lamented as his mind jumped from topic to topic. "What use I am I to anyone anymore? Who would want power over a con man who is blind to being played or worse yet an artist who can't paint? I've lost everything or rather Peter took it from me. No...wait...that doesn't sound right. He never meant to hurt me, not that his intentions changes the fact that he did. Am I still angry with him? Was I ever angry at him, or was it myself? Am I talking too much? I feel like I'm talking too much. Mozzie, what you think?"

Neal stared at a coat draped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs that he was hallucinating was his friend. Neal waited in silence for a few minutes while he got no response out of the coat. Looking around the empty apartment Neal shivered before breaking into a manic laughter. Eventually calming down Neal decided that he felt good, better than he had in his entire life in fact. There was a small nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him something was wrong, but it was hard to focus on when everything else felt so right.

"I was supposed to do something tonight. What was it? Oh, right, break into the Whitney. Better get on that..."


	15. Chapter 15

NOTE: I hope that 'Big Brother' isn't watching me too closely because my internet browser history does not look good right now. Way too much looking up of various drugs, effects, risk, withdrawls, etc. Oh well, all in the name of art, right?

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><p>Chapter Fifteen<p>

"I miss you, Hon."

"I miss you too." Elizabeth's voice purred through the phone. "How's everything going?"

"You mean Neal being off anklet?"

"Is he staying out of trouble?"

"I doubt it." Peter sighed. "I had him over for dinner, he was his usual glib self."

"You expected something different?"

"He wants to tell me something, I know he does, he just can't seem to. I don't know how to get him to talk."

"You can start by not using terms like 'get him to talk'." Elizabeth chuckled. "You get criminals to talk, you offer friends a chance to open up."

"Not going to happen." Peter rolled his eyes. "Not even sure I want it to."

"Well, if Neal really needs your help he'll come to you." Elizabeth said confidently.

"I wish I had as much faith in Neal as you do."

Peter smiled at Elizabeth's musical laughter. Looking over at the empty side of the bed he said good night to his wife and ended the call. With the phone still in hand he briefly considered calling Neal, it wasn't that late at night and he was sure that he'd still be awake. Deciding that he really wouldn't know what to say even if he did call Peter put the phone down on the night stand an settled into bed.

Dawn was just starting to break when Peter was woken by something being out of place. Sitting up in bed it took him a moment to figure out what was wrong. There was a faint odor of bacon in the air. Getting out of bed Peter quietly walked over to the bedroom door and opened it. He could hear faint noises coming from kitchen down stairs. Confused Peter's first thought was that Elizabeth had come home early, but there really wouldn't have been any reason for her to leave Washington in the middle of the night to make the five hour drive to get home.

Wearing a pair of flannel plaid pajama pants and a white t-shirt Peter retreated back into his bedroom and retrieved his gun from the small safe in the closet. Weapon in hand he crept silently down the stairs and through the living room. Approaching the open style kitchen Peter stayed close to the wall with his gun aimed at chest height. Peeking around the corner he froze when he discovered Neal busy at the stove with various pans of food on each of the four burners and ingredients spread out everywhere.

The island counter between the kitchen and the dinning room was covered in plates of well presented meals ranging from breakfast all the way through to dessert. Satchmo was sitting a few feet from Neal, staring at him intently with the tip of his tail wagging. Moving with more energy than Peter had seen him with in a long time Neal danced to a song that was only playing in his own head. Peter flicked the safety back on his weapon and hid it on the top shelf of the entertainment center before stepping up to the island counter.

"Neal?"

"Good morning, Peter!" Neal greeted cheerfully.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?"

"Cooking." Neal answered simply as flipped over the crepe he was working on.

"I can see that. Why?"

"I don't know, I'm not hungry, but this seemed like a good way to pass the time, you were sleeping, I didn't want to wake you up, I hope you're hungry, someone has to eat all this, and it is your food after all, Elizabeth keeps such a wonderfully well stocked kitchen."

"Neal, why are you talking so fast?" Peter asked growing increasingly concerned.

"Honestly, I'm still a little high."

"High?" Peter repeated in surprise. "On what?"

"I...I have no idea." Neal turned away from the stove revealing that his blue eyes were dilated to the point of looking black. "It's really strong whatever it is, and I took a lot of it. Way too much. I think it's starting to wear off though."

"You're taking an unknown drug? Have you lost your min..."

"Also, I broke into the Whitney." Neal admitted freely. "It was a lot of fun, easier than I remember it being."

"You what?!"

"Don't worry, Peter, I didn't take anything."

"I'm worried," Peter said firmly "I'm very worried."

"Have something to eat." Neal offered helpfully.

Having heard more than enough Peter rounded the counter with an expression that caused Neal to back away from him. After turning off the stove burners and the oven he took Neal by the upper arm and dragged him out into the living room. He flicked on the lights causing Neal to squawk in protest as he was momentarily blinded. Peter guided Neal over to the couch and released him.

"Sit." Peter ordered doing his best to keep his temper.

Neal peacefully sat down on the edge of the couch suddenly looking very tired. He went to lay down but Peter put his hand on his shoulder to keep him sitting up. Neal flinched but conceded to staying up. The last thing Peter needed right now was for Neal to fall asleep and slip into a coma. Neal stared up at Peter anxiously as Peter reached down and pressed his fingers against Neal's throat to check his pulse. Finding Neal's heart running on overdrive and his skin hot to the touch Peter swore under his breath.

"Give me your phone." Peter said having left his own upstairs.

Neal handed over his phone without protest. Peter was surprised to find that Neal didn't bother having a code lock on his phone as he swiped the screen to activate it. Neal furrowed his brow as he watched Peter with the phone.

"What are you doing?" Neal asked.

"Calling 9-1-1."

"Peter, no, please, I can't go to the hospital." Neal said suddenly in a panic. "I get treated for illegal drugs and I'm going back to prison where I will be killed. Honestly I'd rather have a fatal heart attack in your living room than be beaten to death in a cell. Besides, it's wearing off, I haven't hallucinated in over an hour. I'm fine, really."

Peter had already dialed the short number and had his thumb over the 'send'. Neal didn't make any move to physically stop him from completing the call, but the genuine fear in his dilated eyes kept Peter from calling for help against his better judgement. To his credit Neal did look like he was starting to come down off whatever he was on. He was at least able to sit still even if he was still overly talkative. Peter shut off the phone and tossed it down on the couch.

"Thank you."

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Peter snarled.

"I didn't think I was taking anything like this. I thought it was percocet, I swear, I was just looking for break from the pain. I've never done anything like this. It was an accident."

"There is always an excuse with you, Neal."

"I know, I really need to work on that."

Shaking his head in frustration Peter left Neal in the living room while he ducked into the downstairs bathroom. Grabbing a washcloth he ran it under a cold tap before wringing it out. Peter brought the washcloth and a dry towel out into the living room. Neal had already laid down on the couch and closed his eyes. Sitting on the coffee table Peter pressed the cold cloth against Neal's forehead to help bring down his temperature. Neal fluttered his eyes open and looked up at Peter with an grateful smile.

"Thank you." Neal muttered as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"You really need to stay awake, Neal."

"I'm so sorry, I never meant for things to get this out of hand."

"Just don't die on my couch, okay?"

"Deal." Neal chuckled.

"Can you sit up? You need to be drinking water."

Rather than answer Neal just began to try sitting up. Peter slipped his hand under Neal's shoulder and when he use the purchase to help him up Neal cried out sharply. Surprised by the reaction Peter jerked his hand away. Already halfway up Neal managed to make it the rest of the way. Holding his arm against his chest Neal looked like he might pass out at any moment. Peter's initial anger at Neal faded, replaced by a genuine concern.

"Neal, this isn't normal. You should be getting better not worse. I know you don't want to go to the hospital now, but we need to get you help for your shoulder if nothing else."

"Good luck with that." Neal said bitterly. "I have 'convict' and 'drug seeker' stamped on my medical record, no one is ever going to look past that."

"I don't believe that."

"During my four years I saw at least a dozen men die at the prison from what were probably preventable problems because no one believed them when they said they were in pain, they never got any kind of treatment. If you weren't actively bleeding you weren't taken seriously."

"You're not in prison anymore."

"The same prejudices still apply, I've already been told this is all in my head."

"We will find someone who will listen, I promise."

Neal didn't look convinced as he hugged his arm closer. Peter waited a minute before retreating into the kitchen to get Neal a glass of water. Neal accepted the glass and sipped cautiously at the liquid. Peter sat in the love-seat across from the couch and watched Neal who was staring vacantly at the floor. He certainly wished that Neal had come to him under better circumstances, but he was grateful that he had sought him out tonight rather than just crawling back to his own apartment like a wounded animal.

"Something else you want to tell me?" Peter asked. "You're never going to get a better chance than now to play on my sympathy."

"I took the Faberge Egg."

"Damn it, Neal. Any particular reason why?"

"Because you told me to."


	16. Chapter 16

NOTE: I can begin to thank you guys enough for the wonderful response to the last chapter! Your wonderful support seriously motivates me to give you my best. Hugs to you all!

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><p>Chapter Sixteen<p>

"This is all my fault." Peter sighed heavily.

"Wow...that is literally, and I mean *literally*, the last reaction I was expecting."

Neal had told Peter the story of breaking into the museum starting with being woken in the early hours by his phone and finishing with handing the egg over to what turned out to be a stranger in the dark alley under the bright lights of the car. He collaborated his story by showing Peter the call log and the texts back and forth when he had hesitated to take the egg. Peter had remained dead silent during the story and it had taken him a full minute to react to it at all.

"I haven't been...entirely honest with you lately." Peter admitted.

"Peter," Neal said in mock admonishment "you disappoint me. You're supposed to be teaching me through example."

Peter narrowed his eyes at Neal to warn him not to push his luck.

"Sorry." Neal apologize. "What did you want to tell me?"

"I didn't approve your conditional release. I was never even consulted."

"What? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't stop the release, and I didn't want to undermine your chances of success by telling you that I didn't think you could handle it. At the time I figured that a vote of confidence was more important than the full truth."

"You don't think I'm ready?"

"Neal," Peter said seriously "you've been off anklet for three days, you've already broken into two art museums, my house, and nearly overdosed on drugs that you bought off the street."

"It wasn't my fault..."

"Why didn't you tell me right away?" Peter demanded. "Why did you just stand there the next day and make 'guesses' as to who had broken in and taken the egg? Why didn't you just tell me someone tricked you into it?"

"Because I didn't think you'd believe me."

Peter took a breath to make an angry retort, but before he could open his mouth he realized that Neal was right. He wouldn't have believed him at the time. The only reason he trusted him now was because he could see that Neal was too worn down to lie. Slumped on the couch cradling his arm that was twisted in an unnatural position Neal was looking closer to collapse by the second. Peter still didn't like the idea of letting Neal lay down so he kept him talking.

"Clearly we still have some trust issues, but that isn't news to either one of us."

"Not really." Neal agreed.

"Let's forget that for the moment. The most important issue right now is your health. Just how much pain medication are you on?"

"As little as possible, I know the dangers."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"It varies, but lately five to six at a time, three to four times a day, but..." Neal hesitated to continue.

"But what?"

"Until recently I've been chewing them. I didn't know that you weren't supposed to. It made them work faster and I didn't think it really mattered. Apparently though without the time release aspect it hits the blood harder with a greater risk of physical dependency."

"I don't know enough about percocet to know if fifteen to twenty-four pills a day is enough to cause an addiction, but it certainly sounds like a lot."

"It's about three times the amount that I was originally prescribed." Neal admitted quietly. "I absolutely have a physical dependency on them, but I was warned that that could happen even on the original prescription dose. On the days when I don't have much pain I still need to take three every six hours to keep withdrawal symptoms under control. However I promise you I am not emotionally addicted. I want nothing more than to be able to stop taking them."

"That's a good start, Neal." Peter nodded. "What about this other stuff? What are the addiction risks to that?"

"I don't even know what it is. It must have been mixed in with the percocet that I bought, I may have one or two before along with the percocet, but this was the first time I'd taken enough of it to really notice."

"We need to find out what you took."

"I'll have Mozzie look into it. Whatever it is I can tell you right now I am in *no* way interested in taking any more. Last night was a nightmare, this morning isn't much better."

Peter believed that Neal had learned his lesson from the small amount of 'dragon chasing' he'd done last night. He also felt no need to distrust what he was hearing about the medication abuse. Neal had been hiding his pain, not his drug use. Now that Peter knew about the pain Neal seemed open to talking about what he had been doing about it. It didn't seem like the behavior of a proper addict, it wasn't that he was denying that there was a problem, he just didn't know a better way to cope.

Peter silently cursed himself for not noticing how badly Neal had been struggling over the past three months. He had known something was wrong but he had assumed it was more emotional than physical. He wasn't very good at dealing with emotional problems so it had been easier to just sit back and hope that time would fix everything. Unfortunately time had just made the burden more difficult to bear.

It was a relief to hear that Neal wanted to distance himself from the narcotics. However, Peter still feared that there was a real danger that Neal's physical addiction could easily become a mental one if he didn't get the right help and fast. Talking about the drugs wasn't helping Neal's currently physical state any. He had closed his eyes and wrapped his arms over his stomach as he ground his teeth together. Still wanting to keep him awake Peter changed the subject.

"What are the chances that you left fingerprints on the quarters in the soda machine?"

"You thought to check the quarters? You are good."

"Neal..."

"I wasn't very careful because I didn't think I was doing anything wrong. I took my gloves off to make getting the coins easier. Chances are high that my prints are on at least one of them."

"Damn it." Peter muttered. "Okay, we will just have to deal with that as it comes."

"Thank you for..."

Peter got to his feet as Neal suddenly stopped. Grimacing Neal's jaw line tightened as he clenched his teeth.

"Neal?"

"Peter," Neal moaned "I'm going to be sick..."

"Not out here you're not, El will kill us both. She loves this damn rug."

Neal managed a weak chuckle as Peter helped him to his feet. Peter lead Neal into the near by bathroom as quickly as he felt was safe. Neal collapsed to his knees in front of the toilet as he began retching against his mostly empty stomach. With his own stomach churning Peter backed away and stepped out of the small bathroom to offer Neal some privacy and to help him keep his own stomach under control.

A few minutes later Neal was still violently dry heaving to the point where it sounded to Peter like he was having trouble catching his breath. When the sound degraded into a wet choking sound Peter rushed back into the bathroom. Neal was on his hands and knees drooling a yellow tinted foam onto the floor as his stomach continued its powerful unproductive contractions. Unable to relax his stomach Neal couldn't manage anything more than a shallow gasp.

Snatching a towel off the rack Peter dropped down next to Neal and used it to clear away as much of the froth as he could to help clear his airway. Neal spat repeatedly but couldn't seem to calm down as he gaped uselessly like a fish left on a sun scorched dock. Instinct was causing him to curl up tighter as his distress turned to true panic which only made it more difficult to gain control of his spasming diaphragm.

Peter guided Neal to sit back on the tile floor which he resisted at first. Sitting down behind him so that he could help support him Peter encouraged Neal to lean back against his chest to help him stretch out his rib cage to allow more air in. Peter wrapped one hand gently around Neal's stomach and brought the other up onto Neal's forehead. Using his purchase Peter forced Neal to bring his head up to open his throat. Starting to go hypoxic Neal clawed at the tile floor as he sucked uselessly for air.

"Relax, Neal, relax, you need to breathe." Peter soothed. "Just like me, nice and slow, calm."

Peter took a deep exaggerated breath so that Neal could feel the rise and fall of his chest in hopes that he would attempt to mimic it. Swallowing convulsively Neal fought to pull a decent amount of air into his lungs. Peter closed his eyes and repeated his own deep breath, willing Neal to do the same. Neal jerked several times and Peter was just about to abandon his tactics in order to call for help when Neal finally drew in a proper breath. Although ragged at first Neal slowly began to recover. Peter was dizzy from drawing too many deep breaths in a row but he continued. Neal only managed a few calm breaths before he passed out. Suddenly going slack his head lolled back onto Peter's shoulder.

"Neal?" Peter shook Neal to try and wake him. "Neal?"

Peter could feel that Neal was still breathing, but he was currently pinned down by his friend's dead weight. Neal was lean, but with all his muscle he was not light and Peter knew he wasn't going to be able to lift him. Unable to wake Neal verbally or with a gentle shake Peter closed his fist and rubbed against Neal's sternum with his knuckles. It was an action that was intended to cause pain as a means of eliciting a response. The sternal rub was often used by paramedics to attempt to rouse unconscious patients. It worked as Neal jerked awake with a cry of panic as he reached up and grabbed Peter's wrist to stop him.

"It's okay, Neal, I just need you to get up. Can you do that? I'll help you."

Neal nodded and began blindly struggling to try and get up. Peter got to his own feet first and helped haul Neal up. Slipping under Neal's left shoulder Peter managed to get him back out to the couch. Neal stayed sitting up but he had his eyes closed and it didn't look like he had the strength to open them. It occurred to Peter that it had probably been more than twenty four hours since Neal got any sleep and even without the drugs he would be struggling at this point.

"Neal, just tell me you're okay and I'll let you sleep. I need to hear your voice or I am calling paramedics."

"I'm okay." Neal whispered hoarsely.

"Alright, lay down."

Neal did not need to be told twice. Laying down on his side Neal was asleep before he could even pull his legs up onto the couch. Peter took Neal's shoes off and brought his legs up onto the couch. He pulled the throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over him. Lifting Neal's head Peter sat down so that he could place Neal's head on his lap. He reached down and rested his fingertips lightly on Neal's throat so that he could monitor both his breathing and pulse. Both had returned to a slow steady rhythm, but Peter worried that what he'd witness in the bathroom might have been some form of seizure.

Glancing at the clock Peter realized he was due into the office an hour ago. Not about to go anywhere Peter reached into Neal's jacket and fished out his cell phone. He doubted that a full Mexican brass band could wake Neal at the moment so he didn't worry about placing a call.

"Caffrey?" Jones answered warily.

"No, it's Peter, I'm just using Neal's phone."

"Oh. Well, I've been calling you. I've got bad news."

"You found Neal's prints?" Peter sighed as his stomach twisted painfully. "Jones, I need you to..."

"No, we didn't find Neal's prints, and we're not going to. Or anyone else's for that matter."

"What happened?"

"The lab messed up, the coins are ruined. They were looking for prints using vacuum metal deposition and they put too much gold and not enough zinc into the mix and basically just ended up coating the coins in gold."

"How did this happen? Our lab is better than that."

"My thoughts exactly. I talked directly to the VDM operator and he swears up and down that he did everything perfectly and that someone must have tampered with the machine. You don't think Caffrey..."

"Do we have a time frame when the machine was supposedly tampered with?"

"He was working late, says that the machine worked perfectly at six thirty when he took a break for dinner. He put the coins in around seven thirty."

"Neal was here with me at seven, half an hour wouldn't have been enough time."

"Maybe the lab guy screwed up and just doesn't want to admit it."

"Maybe." Peter said doubtfully.

"I guess it doesn't matter at this point. There is no evidence of a break in at the lab, or of any tampering, and now no evidence that we can get off the coins. We are at a dead end."

"Keep an ear to the ground, that egg is bound to turn up. For right now let's switch most of our focus to the Fisher case, we have three days till the meet up."

"You still sending Caffrey in on the buy?"

"No. I'll to do the meet. Jones, I'm going to be working remotely for the next few days call me if anything changes on the egg or Fisher case."

"You got it, Boss. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine."

Peter hated lying to Jones but at the moment he didn't have any other options, at least no other options that he liked. The evidence on the coins being destroyed was a true mixed blessing. It would give them more time to figure out who conned Neal, but it also proved that their foe was well connected. Peter didn't believe for one second that the lab technician had simply made a mistake that he was trying to cover up. Peter looked down on Neal who was sleeping soundly.

"Someone is protecting you from us. I wonder if they know that who you really need protecting from is yourself."


	17. Chapter 17

NOTE: Once again, thank you so much for the wonderful response to the last chapter! I'm going to wear out my poor keyboard at this pace, but I'm having a lot of fun and I hope you are too!

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><p>Chapter Seventeen<p>

_'I wonder if they know that who you really need protecting from is yourself.'_

"Trust me, we know that now. Keeping Caffrey safe from himself is your job Agent Burke, I don't know why I didn't see that before."

Devon Frost smiled to himself as he watched Burke sitting on the couch with Caffrey sleeping on his lap in a small screen that was up on his computer. He reached out and picked up the diamond and sapphire chalice that was sitting on his desk. Bringing it up to his lips he sipped at the diet coke that he'd poured into it. He had been fairly certain that Caffrey didn't really have access to the Royal Danish egg, but at the same time he couldn't help but take the bait on the simple trap Caffrey had set for him.

"Not your best work, but I know you're not really feeling like yourself lately."

Setting down the impressive chalice forgery that was now little more than an office mug Frost stretched out his back for a moment. He had lost some of his muscular build over the past two years now that he was working behind a desk, but he still managed to keep in good shape. Watching Burke keeping a close watch on his unlikely friend Frost scratched absent mindedly at a bright white scar on his forearm that marred his ebony skin.

"This is going to work." Frost commented to himself.

Frost had been up all night worrying about Caffrey. Messing with his medication had been extremely risky, but it had gotten Frost the response he had been hoping for. He knew Caffrey might actually overdose or that he might not seek out Burke for help. However Frost needed to know that Caffrey and Burke still trusted one another in order to proceed. If Caffrey had avoided telling Burke the truth for too much longer he would have been useless to Frost anyway.

There was a quick knock at his door that was instantly followed by it being opened rather than the intruder waiting for a response. Frost looked over his shoulder to find Mike Bryant inviting himself into his small office. His long time partner was preoccupied with his smart phone as he entered. Bryant's blonde hair had gotten long enough to fall into his eyes when he looked down at his phone and he kept raking it back.

"Hey, Frost, I can't find...whoa!" Bryant looked up from his phone and stopped cold as he took a step back with a look of horror. "Damn it, Man, where is your eye?"

"What? Oh, right...sorry." Frost looked around with his remaining good eye spotting the glass eye on his desk. "I took it out. It was bothering me."

Picking up the deep brown glass eye off his desk Frost worked it back into the empty cavity where his original eye used to be. Bryant didn't even try to hide his revulsion as Frost settled the prosthetic into place. In a way Bryant's honest reaction to his disfigurement was refreshing. Most of the other people in his life just awkwardly turned their gaze to the floor and said nothing. Even with the eye in a lot of people couldn't figure out how to look at him, they tended to focus their attention on his living eye unable to make contact with the motionless glass one.

"Frost, you know I love you like a brother, but honestly no one wants to see that. Me least of all." Bryant lamented in a good natured tone. "Get an eye patch or something."

"I had one." Frost said sourly. "Ever since the Avengers movie you wouldn't stop making 'Nick Fury' jokes."

"Oh yeah. I'd forgotten." Bryant chuckled. "I'm a horrible person."

"No arguments here."

"So, what are you up to?"

"Nothing." Frost replied quickly as he turned to close the window that was running the surveillance tape that he'd been watching.

"Please tell me that wasn't Caffrey." Bryant complained in exasperation. "You gotta let that go."

"I'm not ready to give up on him."

"Face it Caffrey is a boondoggle." Bryant said critically. "The Boss is going to have you in front of a firing squad by nightfall when he finds out you're still spying on him."

"I, uh, I may be doing more than just keeping an eye on him." Frost admitted.

"You are so dead." Bryant said seriously. "Although I like what you did there with the keep 'an eye' on him, funny."

"I have a new ide..."

"Stop right there. I don't even want to hear what you've been up to. Caffrey is *done*." Bryant said firmly. "You made sure of that when you hired that MI5 washout to mess with him."

"That wasn't my fault." Frost retorted. "Rachel Turner went totally off script. How was I supposed to know she was going to actually fall for her own cover and turn on us?"

"Perhaps because she was already a traitor when you picked her out?" Bryant pointed out. "You really can't expect someone who sells secrets to terrorists to be loyal or sane for that matter. That one was as crazy as a soup sandwich."

"Red heads." Frost sighed ruefully.

"Women." Bryant corrected.

"Ain't that the truth." Frost chuckled.

"In any case, Caffrey is broken, physically and mentally. Move on to something that is actually going to work and stop wasting your time and resources."

"When your Ferrari breaks down you don't leave it on the side of the road to rust, you fix it. You make it run again."

"I don't have a Ferrari, that's above my pay grade, and this guy isn't just a car you can change a tire on." Bryant argued. "Last time I checked you told me he was drowning his sorrows in pain medication."

"I'm working on that." Frost assured. "I haven't jumped into this blindly or without reason. I tested his skills, he still has them. And Burke proved just this morning that his loyalty to Caffrey is still stronger than his loyalty to the letter of the Law, which is far more key to this working than Caffrey being physically sound. After all we first targeted Caffrey for his mind, not his talent with sleight of hand or a paint brush. If I can get him pointed in the right dire..."

"You're as obsessed as Turner was." Bryant interrupted as he shook his head sadly. "I know you feel guilty over how that operation went down, but we all knew the risks of what we were trying to do. It was far too complicated. Between Hagen, Turner, and Burke, it's a miracle that it turned out as well in the end as it did, and right now I think the best thing you can do for both yourself and Neal Caffrey is to leave him alone."

"I can help him, and he can be invaluable to us in return."

"You are living in a fantasy world, my friend. I just want to go on record that I am against whatever it is you are planing one hundred percent."

Frost jumped slightly as the phone on his desk rang shrilly. The phone only rang once, but that was all it ever did. There was only one person on the planet that had the number and when he called it was a direct order to report to his office immediately if not sooner.

"And it looks like you just got caught." Bryant said needlessly. "Good luck, Mate. It's been nice knowing you."

"Shut it." Frost grumbled. "Caffrey is going to be a powerful asset. I made a mistake the first time, I'm not making it again."

"Mistake? As in singular? Pray tell what is the *one* mistake that you made with Caffrey the first time?"

"I tried to separate him from Burke. It wasn't until Turner was out of the way and they were working together that they found that diamond."

"You really are beyond hope if you think you can get both of them."

"I have to, it's the only way this is going to work. When it comes to that partnership the whole is far greater than the sum of its parts."


	18. Chapter 18

NOTE: I'm feeling some guilt over giving Neal a drug addiction...hopefully Peter can get him cleaned up. ;)

* * *

><p>Chapter Eighteen<p>

"Peter, I've been your doctor, more than that: your friend, for nearly twenty years. You know I'd do anything to hel..."

"Don't start a conversation with me like that, Tom, just tell me what's wrong with Neal."

"The same thing that has always been wrong with him. He's a borderline pathological liar with sociopathic tendencies."

"No, I refuse to believe that he is mak..."

"Peter, he's conning you." Tom interrupted seriously. "I know you like this kid, but I also know that you blame your high blood pressure on him as well. You and Elizabeth have been telling me 'Caffrey' stories ever since you started working with him."

"This isn't a con." Peter said firmly. "Please, for the sake of argument just pretend for a minute that you believe every word he just told you about his symptoms."

"That's the problem, Peter, his symptoms don't make any sense. Pain may come and go for a lot of different reasons, but the way he describes his neurological symptoms doesn't line up with any kind of nerve damage, and certainly nothing that he could have suffered from the position of that shot. The entry wound is too high and lateral to have struck the brachial plexus, it did a lot of damage but mostly to soft tissue and bone. All of which is healed now. Even if the nerve cluster in the shoulder was damaged he'd be paralyzed down the arm not displaying intermittent spastic tone and pain."

"If Neal was going to fake an injury he would have researched it first." Peter insisted. "If he was lying it would be a better lie, it would be believable."

"Does he have a medical degree?" Tom asked doubtfully.

"No, but he has Web MD like the rest of us do." Peter growled as his began to lose his temper. "I'd be more suspicious of him lying if he presented as a 'text book case'. He wouldn't just give you a list of random symptoms if he wasn't experiencing them."

"If you honestly believe his pain is real then you can try taking him to a Pain Clinic."

"Will they believe him?"

"Honestly...no." The doctor admitted. "They will probably treat him as a drug seeker."

"He's not a drug seeker, he wants off of the stuff he's taking now."

"Then my advice is to send him to a proper rehab facility and let them clean him up. I also have a strong suspicion that he'd not just downing percocet but some form of street drug as well."

"He doesn't have private health insurance. I tell anyone he needs rehab and he's going to end up in a cut rate prison drug program. I can't let that happen."

Tom sighed heavily as he looked at Peter with a worried expression. Peter was getting irritated by his friend's patronizing tone, he couldn't imagine how much worse it must be for Neal to not be trusted by the doctors. All they were doing was asking for help, but all they were hearing was that they didn't need it. Eventually Tom went over to his desk and pulled out his prescription pad.

"Detox will happen quickly, within twelve to twenty-four of last taking it he will seem to suddenly go downhill as the withdrawal sets in. He can't just stop 'cold turkey', the risk of seizure and convulsions is too high." Tom warned as he scribbled on the small pad of official paper. "Two to three pills every six hours for twenty-four hours, then one to two every eight hours for the next forty-eight, then he can safely stop."

"Thank you."

"Even doing this slowly it is going to be a rough ride. Fever, anxiety, muscle pain, restlessness, insomnia, vomiting, drooling, sweating, they are all part of coming down from taking three months worth of percocet in three weeks. He should have come to you with this sooner."

"It's complicated."

"I can see that." Tom handed over the prescription. "Don't bring him back here, Peter."

"Tom..."

" I mean that. If you can't handle him over the next three days or if he starts seizing you call 911. Got it?"

Peter just nodded as he took the script. Looking at the stereotypical messy handwriting Peter furrowed his brow.

"Tom, this prescription has my name on it."

"I'm not writing anything for Caffrey, I don't want to get involved any more than I already am. As far as I'm concerned he was never here and if anyone asks you fell in the shower and bruised your tailbone so I gave you something to take the edge off for a few days."

Peter was going to protest but he realized that it wasn't going to get him anywhere. Taking the paper he left Tom's office and headed out into the waiting room. Neal was sitting alone in one of the chairs that was set up against the wall. The other people who were waiting to be seen by the doctor had strategically placed themselves as far from him as they could in the small room, afraid of catching whatever he had.

Although he had looked in rough shape when Peter had first brought him in he looked far worse now. Neal had his head bowed as he leaned forward with his forearms resting on his knees. His skin was already beaded with a fine film of sweat and he was tapping his feet incessantly. Reaching up he rubbed the back of his hand across his face to brush away the thin line of saliva that had slipped down his chin. Peter briefly thought of calling Tom out into the waiting room, but he had already been warned that this wasn't going to be pretty.

Neal didn't look up as Peter approached. He just stared at the floor between his feet as he started opening and closing his hand with a low growl of pain. It suddenly occurred to Peter that it had been at least twelve hours if not longer since Neal had taken any percocet. Whatever he had taken the night before may or may not have been mixed with percocet. Neal had spent a solid seven hours sleeping on the couch while Peter watched over him. It had taken another hour to arrange to see Tom and they had been there for another hour. Peter had assumed that the detox wouldn't really start until tomorrow, but it was clearly happening right now and it was only going to get worse.

"Neal?"

"He thinks I'm conning you." Neal said sounding more defeated than angry. "He told me point blank that he thinks I'm faking this."

"I know." Peter said quietly. "I'm sorry, I thought he would listen."

"No one will ever believe me."

"That's not true...I believe you."


End file.
